Innocently unaware that she was being stalked, the small brown dog curled her body into a tight nose to tail ball atop the pillow and slept in a circle of sunshine. The youngest kitten stretched out flat on his belly and crept toward her, one discreet paw at a time. By the time she sensed danger, he had already reared up on his back legs and was well into pounce mode - there was a terrified, high pitched yelp when he landed, a brief and chaotic struggle, then he leapt off the bed at full speed, leaving her wild eyed and trembling. It took several minutes of cradling and stroking, all the while speaking in my most soothing voice to calm her. The kitten returned and curled up at the foot of the bed as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened but, I noticed, he did keep a respectful and cautious distance away. I wanted to think it was out of guilt, but knowing his character, it wasn't likely - it was far more probable that he was evaluating, possibly gloating, and all the while strategizing a second and more direct assault. In the tradition of the many previous black cats that have lived with me, he is something of an expert in the techniques and tactics of terror - I sometimes wonder if the arts of stealth and silence are not natural gifts.
After some considerable reassurance, the small brown dog retook her position on the pillow, more centered this time and closer to me. The kitten attempted to initiate a staring contest but by that time the black dog had arrived and exerted her authority via a menacing look in his direction - she dislikes any commotion in which she does not play a leading role. The kitten assumed a bored look then feigned sleep. No one was taken in by this deception - the brown dog slept lightly, her chin on my shoulder while the black dog remained watchful, resting her muzzle on her paws but open eyed and alert.
Although it feels like they crash down upon us, unexpected events usually approach with stealth and silence, biding their time until we are the least aware and the most vulnerable. Then they strike like a firestorm, catching us ill prepared and off guard. They come in varying disguises - a disabling and severe stroke, a car accident, an unforeseen death, the sudden and jolting loss of a job, a 4am hospital admission which leads to surgery, a nerve wracking confrontation with a fellow human being,
a breakdown of soul or faith, sometimes both. Resilience and stubborness lead us through, wounds heal and we adapt, accept, find alternatives and carry on. In the event that we have limited choices, we make them bravely and try not to look back. It makes us fragile, confused, uncertain, sometimes scarred but always, eternally and inarguably human.
We were not promised fairness or lack of struggle, not even assured that we would find our place or get to where we're going. There may be no Promised Land, no milk and honey, no Easy Street. We are easily sidetracked and distracted, often losing sight of the trees while lost in the forest. We forget that we are all we have, but in the end, with persistence, optimism, hard work and a sturdy backpack, we climb mountains and find ourselves.
On the other hand.
What if the lesser efforts of our four footed companions is really the wiser course? Who can say what the world might be like if we were all to concentrate on the simple philosophy of eat, sleep, play and pounce? It could be that all our worries and woes, all our words and wisdom, wouldn't be worth a
bowl of Friskies. Being human is generally considered better but just maybe it ain't necessarily so.
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