Just when I think I’ve got this planet figured out, some unforeseen circumstance happens that totally destroys whatever paradigms I’ve constructed in a vain attempt to understand reality. I work very hard to get myself aligned to the “flow” of the universe, but all too often I need a little support to get me into that vibratory resonance, or whatever you want to call it. It was precisely for this reason that for over 14 years I had a cat.
I’m convinced that all cats know something and they’re just not telling us. Sure, they’re cute, cuddly and mysterious (which is another way of saying moody), but the real reason people own cats (or rather, people are OWNED by cats) is that one day we think they will let us in on the SECRET.
A couple of times I’ve come close to finding the Holy Grail. The last cat I had, Patience, arrived about the time I was in the midst of a yearlong stretch of unemployment. One day, as I was leaving my apartment for another job interview, I looked at her and, on a whim, said, “Patience, I really need this job. Could you help me out a little?” She just looked at me blankly, then went back to licking her belly.
As it turns out, that was the best job interview I ever had. They loved me. I was hot property and was hired on the spot. When I got home, I found Patience reclining on the couch looking at me as if she expected applause. I just stared at her and asked, “WHAT did you DO?” She didn’t say anything and just lay there with her eyes twinkling, flicking her tail.
After that, I always asked for some kind of supernatural kitty intervention when I left for work, and I can attest that, for the remainder of Patience’s 18 years on this earth, she took good care of me, even though she NEVER let me in on exactly WHAT it was she knew.
I remember that at one point the veterinarian admonished me about her weight, so I began to spoon out her food in smaller portions. It was then that the chaos in my life increased in direct proportion to the amount of food I had withheld. Suddenly I had car problems, money problems, health problems and a stream of miscommunications and misunderstandings between friends and relatives. Then one morning, because I was running late, I simply dumped a can of Fancy Feast in her dish.
With all the speed and ferocity of a lightning bolt, my life suddenly improved. My health cleared up. Phone calls were returned with apologies. I was able to have my car battery replaced on my lunch hour, and the bank found some money I didn’t know I had.
After that episode, I needed no convincing. Kitty Mojo is definitely real. And like any good cat worth her salt, Patience never disclosed what she knew. She took it with her to kitty heaven. And like any good human who has ever been owned by a benevolent dictatress, I cling to the hope that one day she will come to me in a dream and let me in on the secret ...
Paul McDonald is a writer, educator and graduate student who thinks too much. He can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.