If I had a blog, I would write about how much I have missed my cats. I haven’t gone anywhere and neither have they, but the rigors of summer on the farm have kept me so busy I haven’t had time to sit and be loved. Today I made time. The lawn can wait, the bills will keep until tomorrow, and the laundry will only grow a few more inches before nightfall. Today was for me and cats.
“Quality Cat Time” involves two phases: First, a long nap with Sawyer, the Big Black Cat, sacked out on top of me. His purr is the best lullaby I could wish for and his considerable heft keeps me cozy and warm. After nap-time has ended, I sit in my reading chair and Claudia Jean, my dainty calico, walks round and round from one side of the back-rest to the other rubbing on my head and face. I scratch her ears and she sits on my shoulder, loving the glasses off my face. I think she’d go forever if something fascinating, like cat hair floating past the window, didn’t grab her attention and I wouldn’t mind. There is no therapy as restoring as the love of a happy cat.
Then there was The Frog. Mom and I were going out to do morning chores and as we sat on the garden wall, putting on our work boots, we saw a big, handsome leopard frog climbing into the lap or our Garden Angel. It was a small thing, but somehow it felt like a good sign for the day.
Actress Cameron Diaz once said, “I’d kiss a frog even if there was no promise of a Prince Charming popping out of it. I love frogs” and I have to agree. There is something innocent yet wise in the visage of a frog, as if their seeming naiveté is an act to disguise their ancient knowings. I think they watch us with amusement and perhaps even pity as we rush through our lives, so full of worry for the future and regret for the past. Frogs live in the moment and although I believe they see the grand scheme of things, they keep their world small and simple. French biologist and philosopher Jean Rostand summed it up perfectly when he wrote, “Theories pass. The frog remains.” Amen, small brother. Amen.