Sundance sneezed five times. Shouldn’t have surprised me. I “felt” I was helping her as she lay across my legs, jettisoning hundreds of microscopic objects onto my leg and arm where her small furry head had just rested.
Sundance is my “Buddha Buddy,” the tortoise-colored cat that greets me with a leap onto, and a curl up across, my lap as I meditate. She hesitated today. Not used to me wearing shorts, sans a covering over my not-quite-perfect half lotus-positioned legs. That’s a lotus position without either foot resting on the opposite leg. Unlike anything you see in the pictures of mostly thin, picture-perfect young women, all of whom look in their early 20s.
Not sure where each foot ends up. But I “insure” my back gets support from a cushion behind me. I rest my arms on two “throw” pillows, with one hand facing down and the other up, seeking both a grounding and a “reception.”
No cover draped over me. I usually place a “throw” over my legs to keep out the chill. Went “bare-back” with my legs exposed today.
The cat offered an internal “meow” as she jumped on the seat. She paused — cautiously peering across my lap, as if wondering how secure she’d be without the cover. She moved slowly. As softly as only cats can move in a way that disturbs nothing, and permits her to glide over a surface with nary a hint she’d ever stepped there before.
She stood on my legs. I felt her ease her haunches, carefully lowering her backside as her hind parts came into contact with my lap. She lay across the lap, stretching out her paws and letting her body “relax.”
Her small frame warmed my lap, as my contact warmed her. Too soon, a noise interrupted us. The newspaper delivery man threw the Philadelphia Inquirer onto our front steps and a thud startled the cat. A second thud followed. The New York Times.
Sundance stood up, turned and faced the sound. She focused where possible danger might come: outside our house.
And then she sneezed. A wet one. It felt like someone sprayed a small “mist” of water on my left arm and right leg, both of which were supporting the feline’s head just a second before.
She sneezed again. And again. This time, I tried to “telegraph” all the love I felt inside of me to ease her discomfort. I know it sounds crazy. But I don’t care. I wanted to help the cat’s over-all well-being.
I petted her back and neck, but not too much. Did not want her to start her “purring thing” that leads to the “kneading” thing. She sneezed again. I petted some more. Couldn’t help it. She purred. And sneezed a fifth time.
Finally, she stood up, stretched the way only a cat can stretch, and returned to her original position, facing away from the wind and what it might have blew into her tiny nostrils. Calmed down, she fell into her “Buddha pose.” You know, that slight relaxed smile that tells the world that all is well with the world. We meditated. Together.