Tapping Into the Cat Self

 by Julia Buckley

As temperatures in Chicago continue to swelter at 95 plus, I find myself thinking and acting more like my cats.  First, I'm pacing the house like a tiger, feeling locked in to the air conditioner and reluctant to step into the blistering outdoors.

The problem is that there isn't much to do inside, so I opt for two cat favorites: eating and sleeping.  Today, a non-work day, I gave up on the writing that I swore I'd do because I found myself nodding over my laptop; so I ventured upstairs (a hot place favored by cats) and napped on my bed.

While I don't enjoy sitting in the direct sun, which the cats seem to like, I do acknowledge the power of sleep as an antidote to boredom--I've used that option all my life, and it has served me as well as it serves the felines you see pictured here.  The little black and white creature is Rose.  She spends a good part of her day tucked inside our cloth mini blinds; no visitor would ever be able to find her, and we know better than to disturb the bulge in the blinds.  When she gets hungry enough, she spills down the wall and wanders to the food bowl.

 Like Rose, I wander to the food bowl after periods of rest--far more often than I should wander there.  This last weekend I re-ignited my passion for oatmeal cookies, and I'm sure my cruel (and sometimes sarcastic) scale will tell me about it.

Like Pibby, the patriarch at left, I find my eyes are often closing of their own accord, occasionally even in the midst of a conversation.  Rather than blame this on my age, I prefer to blame it on the heat.

 Another reality of the heat is the forced proximity to my loved ones--both a blessing and a curse.  At times, we enjoy the closeness, (a la Rose and her brother Mulliner, at right), and we've enjoyed a whole slew of family games and summer movies together.

At other times, the heat and the closeness sets off the bickering, between my sons, between my husband and me, etc.  As with the cats, the fur occasionally flies (although the felines have their spats at night, as evidenced by tumbleweeds of fur that we find in the morning).

The best nonverbal advice my cats have given me is to stretch my muscles when confined in a small place.  They routinely curl this way and that, then extend as far as they will go, so that they are still limber despite their long periods of rest.

I can't say that I'm limber as a cat, but since there are many more hot days on the horizon, perhaps I can build some cat-like skills before the summer ends (IF it ends?)

Happy July!