Don't Blame the Lettuce

The younger black cat, minding his own business and strolling casually through the dining room, never saw the tabby coming. She launched herself from the top of the table and came flying through the air, landing squarely on top of him with the exquisite accuracy of a guided missile. In an instant, both were entangled and entwined in a blur of paws and tails - the black cat freed himself and ran for the bedroom with the tabby streaking after him, but he was faster and by the time she turned the corner he was poised to counter attack - he flew at her from the side and tackled her down. There had not been a sound during this small free for all, not a hiss or a yowl or a meow and it ended with both cats losing interest in the fray and wandering off in different directions, as if nothing at all had happened. Later in the morning, I would find them curled up together and fast asleep on the loveseat.

One of the many beauties of being a cat is their ability to express themselves and then move on without resentment, without holding a grudge. They don't remember hurt feelings or slights, they don't lose their tempers and say things they'll regret later. They are straightforward and direct animals and as my dear friend Tricia once recommended to me, their basic philosophy seems to be: Get mad, get over it, get on with it.

Unless you happen to be a cat, all of life's lessons seem premised on the theory of easier said than done. It's quicker and less trouble to blame the lettuce for not growing well instead of investigating the soil and the gardener.