buddha in a fur coat

     The cat and I have become best buds now that it's just the two of us during the week, and especially since she lost that back leg in late summer. Juniper's always been very sweet -- but reserved, like someone who is on the formal side no matter how long you've known them. They would really rather we all shake hands instead of hug. They make a little sound like "ehhhhh" when you squeeze them, even a bit, in an embrace. My ex-mother-in-law, so formal you wondered if it might be a joke (that would be a no) would, in an attempt to keep children at bay, call out as the kids ran up to greet her: "Now, which hand shall I shake first?" Cats can be like that.
     But since Laura, Juni's more attentive (not to actually say the word "co-dependent") owner, is gone most of the time, and since I am the one who gave the okay to remove her leg (the cat's, not Laura's), Juni sees that the stakes are pretty high. People and limbs can actually disappear, and one is left with what? Three legs and one surgery-happy person who occasionally remembers to feed you. It's not much. Best strategy may be solidarity, the cat seems to think. She is at this moment, as is often the case of late, under the laptop -- or cattop, I should say.
     In the mornings, Juni follows me, staring or glaring -- sometimes it's hard to tell with cats -- until I sit to meditate. When I get on my zafu or zamboni, or whatever that meditation cushion is called, she sits in front of me and immediately starts her mantra. She has mastered her monkey mind, and is freaking buddha in fur. On the mornings when I've decided to skip meditating and instead move straight into the day, her cat-stare is decidedly accusatory. The danged cat has the discipline to meditate this morning, I scold myself.
     This morning I "meditated" about my breathing (I won't say how long that lasted), my to-do list, last night's dreams, my connection to the Source (this for a nanosecond), the Oneness of us all (ditto), and then, for a long time, whether I should have a green smoothie or eggs and kale for breakfast. I opened one eye and spoke to the chanting cat.
     "Very impressive, smartypants," I muttered. Juni did not stop chanting; not for a moment.
     I felt even worse after that -- it negates your meditation session if you peek, I think -- not to mention mutter, for god's sake. It can't be good to make a snarky comment and then go back to contemplating the oneness of us all. But I only opened one eye, so...points for that.