This is Charlie, my beloved cat and tree-climbing expert. Yesterday he climbed higher than he ever had, and found a comfortable spot in the fork of a tree where he could see the entirety of his kingdom. Unfortunately the tree had a curved trunk and Charlie had no way to turn around and shimmy down backwards the way he likes. Lucy, his exquisitely beautiful calico sister, and I kept checking on him, wondering if he were stuck. After a while he made a movement to get his legs under his body, but he was having trouble.
I stood under the tree wondering if I could catch him if he fell, and what if he broke his leg, and if he hit the ground, how would I know if he were bleeding internally. All the while, Charlie sat in the crook of the tree, swinging his tail contentedly. He wasn’t worried. He sat until he knew what to do, which was to shift his body weight forwards and swing his hind legs beneath him. Not easy, especially when your nickname is Fat Boy. But he did it, and climbed down with only a bit of a scraped foot. I grabbed him up in a hug, but he wasn’t interested; he was heading off to taunt Lucy.
I’ve been trying to remember what’s real in me. It’s not the voices that say “what if” or “why would anybody read this silly blog about a cat.” It’s the place inside that knows I can handle any problem that comes up, and handle it without anxiety or fear, just like Charlie did. So I’m watching Charlie. He knows how to live.
