Cat Therapy

There are few things as wonderful as a purring pussy. (How’s that for an opening. And that. Stop it Jimmy!)

Now, like all interesting humans, and writers, I have a long, chronicled association with cats.

And I have long enjoyed having a familiar around my home – Lucky (from the Bronx) was the longest serving familiar. She made sure I wrote TWA here in NoCo before she passed. Indeed, as far back as I remember, beginning with Posie and the original Clancy and Mittens, there were cats in McCaffrey homes. The OFC shared Aunt Violets Flop House with an old Tom named Murray for a while.

Now we’ve also had many dogs (I miss all of mine dearly), but that is a completely different relationship. Dogs arrive in your life to protect you. Selflessly. One thousand percent unquestioning loyalty. They never judge. The tiniest of their breed will race out before you to prevent harm from any imagined threat. They will follow you into the abyss and never question you. All they want is your love. (Please, if you can, adopt a rescue this Christmas.)

Cats serve a completely different role. They answer to no one. They insist on being courted. They will often reward your unbridled attention with indifference. They judge, quickly and often. But they will provide the level of emotional advice that one would find in human form only in Tyrion Lannister – okay, maybe BC. Honest to a fault. But wise. Oh so wise. (Again, if you can, adopt a rescue this Christmas.)

Now I have chronicled my relationship with one of the feral cats, Smokey, who has spent the past few years wandering in and out of The Jack the Spruce Grotto, enjoying her daily meals and the warmth of wonderful heated outdoor cat bunkers. And the occasional morning cuddle.

I’ve also chronicled her recent decision to join Lisa and I inside Casa Claire. She just started appearing on the back deck – after Blue’s passing – and commanding our attention with plaintiff Meows.

Of course, Smokey would never allow you to pick her up and carry her inside. She would run from any attempt. You had to open the door and invite her in. Love on her terms.

So each day over the past couple of weeks Smokey has transitioned into more and more of an inside cat.

Mittens (aka Mike), who often shared a meal with Smokey on the front porch, doesn’t seem to mind her recent absences from the daily meal service.

He only stays around when it snows, opting for the larger black heated bunker under JTS. Otherwise, he finishes his meal and goes out on the prowl, as all good Tom’s do. https://urbanedgewildlife.org/bobcats-and-feral-cats-on-patrol/

And each day, Smokey spends more time curled up on her favorite couch blanket,

And, when she does go outside, its usually to sun herself on one of the side deck benches.

Where she can watch Claire and Honey forage in the trees by the Giant’s Causeway.

Which I take as another sign of my literary ascendency, given that Hem’s cats also enjoy wooden benches.

(Thank you Anna Hillman – https://thewisenovelist.com/marissa-joins-the-mos-bookshelf-thank-you-anna-hillman/)

But it turns out I am receiving an unexpected and quite mystical benefit from Smokey’s transition. Every morning while I try to type around Smokey

often with just with my left hand, she purrs.

And it seems that this purring has documented benefits to man and beast.

I’ve actually posted a video of Smokey’s magical purring on my FB page: https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1gooPFQMihBSL3YL/

So, my fine, five readers, adopt a rescue purring pussy and you too can enjoy the unexpected health benefits those vibrational frequencies can provide.

You may even feel the oscillating urge to write.

On that vibrational note, I will launch myself into another Monday.

But first I’ll cuddle and feed Mittens on my way out to do my rounds.

And no matter what hertz we may be vibrating in, let us make today a great one.