Ghost Cats

I have apparently survived the first week of school in spite of putting in a few 15-hour work days. My classroom, at least, is orderly. My living room, on the other hand, is littered with posterboard, curriculum guides, birthday charts and more--all work I'd like to finish before tomorrow morning. It's a tall order, I know, and so the year begins. My yoga this week has suffered. It's no wonder I dreamt last night that I was back at White Lotus in Santa Barbara for a week of yoga intensive and I had missed Beatrice's magnificent vegetarian lunch because I was busy taking care of business. This week I skipped out on what nourishes me because I spent the time taking care of a business that I hope will nourish my students. This is all OK. My practice yesterday felt good enough and I'm looking at a new week for both nourishing myself and others.

But this morning I'm getting to another story--the tale of a ghostly little intruder. Two weeks ago we were camping at Flaming Gorge, that last summer hurrah. Friday afternoon we received a call from the mother of the neighbor girl who we hired to feed our cats. Our door, she told us, was left open (What?) and when her daughter arrived a ginger tabby from two doors down had busted in on Argus and Odo and wreaked havoc. Our cats, normally mild and quiet boys, were in a puffy, hissy state and the scared girl closed the door on the entire scene and ran home, locking Gingerboy in our house. First off, let me state for the record that if our door had been left open for more than five minutes our cats would have been outside rolling around in the dirt and snacking on the green, green grass of home. But that's that. We asked our neighbor if she wouldn't mind walking over to our house to kindly banish the intruder cat from our home. We envisioned tufts of fur and pools of cat blood covering the carpet. At the very least we dreaded discovering piles of a not-litterbox-trained kitty's excrement. And what about the years of PTSD therapy to come for our boys? That evening we received a call that our neighbors had checked things out and our house seemed fine, the cats were calm and collected, and there was no evidence of any other feline presence. This was Friday.

Saturday my sister-in-law went home and was able to check out the scene. Same report, no other cat, the boys were mellow. We scratched our heads, wondered "What the???" and finished up our vacation. The house was fine upon our return. Our cats purred and made joyous infinity loops around our legs. Life was good. Monday, normal life. Tuesday, same. Tuesday near midnight my daughter went upstairs for a drink and saw a pale streak of cat run from the food dishes to the basement. A search high and low produced no cat. Kayla, infamous for a big imagination, was accused of hallucination. Poor girl. I spent Wednesday at school reading with my soon-to-be students, stayed late in my classroom. I drove home about 10 PM and picked up my girls from a friend's house. Chris had arrived home about that time and when he opened the door Argus was chasing the orange cat up the stairs and into our bedroom. Chris put Argus in the hallway, shut our door, and opened the French doors that lead onto our deck. By the time I arrived home with the girls the cat I'd only heard about had scrammed.

So this is my take on the strange, surreal incident. We go along in life thinking we know what's up. Life is so. For three days I lived in this house with my cats, my kids and my husband, just so. And all that time there was an unknown presence living, we presume now, in the wall space between our laundry room and the bathroom. I think I know myself, know what my feelings mean, where they come from. I have my stories, but I can still be surprised to discover that most likely I really know nothing about them at all. How can I explain moving along swimmingly in my day-to-day only to have a ghost cat emotion arise triggered by who knows what? I am moved to tears and sadness, and the usual explanations do not serve. Life is strange--a lot stranger than I let on to. It's my challenge to let go of my expectations and certainties to see what actually IS. We human beans have our safety nets--it's comforting to think we really know, but it's not necesssarily wise. I am suspicious of any strong opinions, my own or those of others. A little more flexibility is required so that you don't die of a heart attack when that ghost cat you were certain was not there races up your staircase to eat your cat's food.