Difficulty at the beginning

I'm reading one of the funniest books I've ever read in my life: Yoga Bitch, by Suzanne Morrison. Those of us who have done time in yoga centers and personal growth workshops through the 80s and 90s have heard enough sanctimonious bullshit and jargon-laden crap about "healing" and "wellness" that we need to laugh about it. Not to say we don't need healing or crave wellness, but we need a break from our own earnestness.

If Suzanne Morrison were writing about my first night with Sir Archibald Taiga, she would have you laughing till you wet your pants, till tears stream down your face and you have to go blow your nose and breathe deeply before the next gale of laughter hits.

Taiga spent the night wailing like the world was coming to an end and he had to mourn it all. The worst of his caterwauling transpired between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m., during which time he did not let up for more than the time it took for him to draw in breath, wind it up, and let it go in another moan. It was like all the moaning cats you ever heard in your life, only instead of them being out there somewhere, they were in my apartment. He dumped the dead tulip and all its dirt off the top of my refrigerator onto the floor. He clawed up my Persian carpet, my couch and my recliner chair. He broke my closet door and splintered the bottom edge of the bathroom door. He knocked my TV off the bookcase. (I think it still works.) He dumped his water dish into his food dish and clawed up the rug and left rug shavings in the lumpy mass of food and water. I hope my neighbors were dreaming of banshees and shamans and had no idea where those sounds were coming from.

Around 8 a.m., he quit wailing. He panted and paced. And then about noon I went out for a walk and some air, and I left him alone for a bit. When I came back, he was glad to see me. He has been in my lap ever since. We napped together for about twenty minutes. He let me brush him for a while and then set him on the table and take his picture. Hence, the worried, weary, and mildly disoriented look you see on his face in this picture. I hope the worst is over. I am reminded of my friend Alberto, in Northampton, Massachusetts. He comes from Chile and has a wonderful amused way of observing the behavior of Americans much as an anthropologist might do. He said, speaking of friends of ours who had three children and many bills and took on a rescue dog: "They didn't have enough trouble, so they got a dog." I got a cat.

Thanks for your supportive, encouraging, and hopeful comments yesterday and for propelling what I thought was only a mildly acceptable photograph to the front page of the Spotlight (first time that ever happened to me). I know it was your generous impulses, hoping the best for me. I needed that.