Every workday morning, after I feed the cats and dogs and eat my own breakfast, I go upstairs to the master bedroom to meditate. I sit on the bed, cross-legged, and try to still my thoughts.
The gray cat, Annie, has joined me there for the past two years. She is a friendly cat, but does not like to be picked up. Only rarely will she sit on a lap. Instead, she likes to follow me around and then sit unobtrusively to one side as I dress or brush my hair.
My meditation session is an ideal way for her to spend time with me. She has me to herself. I will stroke her head and tummy, but not too much, because I am, after all, trying to meditate. When I say “it’s meditation time,” she lies down obediently, near my feet, but not too near.
At least, that’s the way it’s been. But now, the boys have cottoned on to the situation.
And they don’t like it.
The boys are Teddy, a large and sociable tiger-striped Maine coon, and Leo, a rangy black long-hair who can be unexpectedly affectionate, but who also enjoys running madly from one end of the house to the other.
Teddy gets more than his share of attention because he likes it. He spends almost every evening on my husband Paul’s lap. Ted enjoys sitting with me in my reading nook, if the dogs have gone to bed, and sometimes even when they haven’t. He’s pretty brave.
Leo seeks love on his own terms. He is less confident than Ted is when it comes to the dogs, but he won’t hesitate to try to grab some of Paul’s lap after his brother cat has already laid claim to it.
I’m sure neither of them would appreciate that description of their relationship. They get scrappy with one another. Sometimes these face-offs escalate into hissing matches. Paul and I are never sure whether their rolling around, which looks a bit like Greco-Roman wrestling, is just a demonstration of “feats of strength” or the prelude to a death battle. Taking no chances, we always break them up.
Against this backdrop the two girl cats, Clara and Annie, try to go about their business. Clara, a slim tortoiseshell, brooks no opposition from the boys or the dogs. Annie just stays out of everyone’s way.
Which is why I’ve always been pleased that Annie has her meditation time with me.
I smelled trouble brewing when Leo entered the bedroom one morning. I opened one eye to see him stretched out along a bureau. He was eyeing Annie, and his tail was thumping softly.
But he didn’t try anything, and I soon became used to him coming into the room now and then. Sometimes he’d lie on the dog bed, sometimes in an ill-chosen spot near a corner. Leo didn’t make a move, but I could tell what he was thinking. “How does she rate?”
Teddy arrived on the scene because he chased Leo into the room. Or maybe it was the other way around. Teddy stood on the blanket chest at the foot of the bed and stared. Wheels clicked in his little kitty brain. Something was going on here between mom and Annie …something he should be involved in. How long had this affair been going on?
He pounced. Annie skittered under the bed. Leo headed for the hills. I gave up trying to meditate that morning.
Naturally, I was annoyed. I rely on that time to help me prepare for the day. I also was upset. Annie had so little time with her people. Teddy was being selfish.
Hmm…isn’t that practically the definition of a cat?
Of course, they also are quixotic. So even though Annie knows to come upstairs after me each morning, and Leo has developed a habit of slinking in, Teddy did not immediately develop a routine. Perhaps he was distracted by the sight of squirrels hanging upside down from a branch of the pear tree, eating all the bird seed. In any case, a week or so went by before he returned.
Teddy jumped on the bed. Annie cowered. I tried to hold her in place, but she clearly wanted to disappear. When I let her go, she headed underneath the bed. Teddy, triumphant, lay in a sphinx-like pose, near me.
I might be going all anthropomorphic, but I don’t think so. The cats obviously welcome times when the dogs are either on another floor of the house, as they are in the morning, or asleep. Sometimes, if cats are sitting on our laps in the living room, pups Martha or Quinn will take offense at their prized positions and nudge them. This causes a domino effect that results in chaos.
I must present an irresistible attraction, alone and immobile for 20 minutes each morning. Why shouldn’t the cats fight over me? I don’t take it personally. Any tummy rubber will do.
The next morning, Teddy came in promptly, and Annie never showed up. His Royal Highness sat on my lap, quite pleased with himself. I felt guilty, but it seemed best to let the cats work this one out on their own.
A long weekend seemed to give them the chance to do that. On Monday morning, Teddy came and sat with me, but got off the bed before I did. Then, lo and behold, Annie arrived. Teddy watched her carefully from the other side of the room, but didn’t launch an attack.
She primly jumped on the bed and approached me, tail held high. I went through the necessary routine, and then said, “It’s time to meditate.” I closed my eyes and appreciated the peace that now reigned in the room—at least for the next 10 minutes.
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