October 15, 2013
(the following is reposted from a submission of mine that was featured on Tiny Buddha last month, and again on Life As a Widower. It’s a true story from my childhood, though my folks would probably say I was leaning into ‘literary license’ territory. ;) That said, this is the unedited version of the tale, which includes a pictorial peek at my old stomping grounds. More importantly, I want to commemorate the completion of the outline for a long-in-development series of four children’s books, directly inspired by the events recounted below. For all of you taking part in this year’s NaNoWriMo…know that I’m there in the literary trenches with you – BB)
I’ve always been a ‘cat guy’. This was long before my Buddhist friends told me stories of how cats are true earthly masters, here on earth to show us the Way. Or, to demonstrate the meditative perfection of the feline purr. Or, how the life of a cat is seen in some traditions as reward for ‘good Karma’.
When I lived in rural Nova Scotia, the house was blessed with two cats named Midge and Mooch: tabby mixes, who would come and go as they pleased, and were kind enough…if not overly affectionate. I kept asking for a cat of my own, and my folks eventually buckled. For my seventh birthday, I received a black and white kitten with golden eyes and a salmon-pink nose. He took to me instantly. Love at first meow.