It's a beautiful morning here. Right now it's about 8 AM and the sun is streaming through the window and the sky is a bright blue. One of my cats is sitting with me as I drink coffee and type 5 words-per-minute.
Some people cringe if you mention cats. They roll their eyes and quit listening to what you're saying. I used to be like that. I was raised with dogs, very large dogs at that, and could never understand who would want a cat. Years ago one of my friends bought two cats for $300 each. I was incredulous. "You PAID for a cat?" , I asked in disbelief. What a joke! She was bringing creatures into her home whose sole duties in life were just to ignore her and eat the food she provided.

Months later I kept seeing a small white cat in my backyard. She (or was it a he?) was so skinny, and kept looking at me with these huge soulful eyes. Finally I started putting out food for it which it would eat greedily if I was standing there. If I left, it would dart away and other neighborhood cats would eat the food later. I noticed that she (he?) never hung out with the other cats. She, (I finally decided for no good reason that she WAS a she), always seemed so happy to see me when I came outside. She would rub up on stuff in the yard and try to preen. She was pressing up on my car one day and got a huge black streak of grease on her white coat. It remained there for days.

Clearly she did not belong to anyone. And finally I realized that she was declawed. That's why she wouldn't go near the other cats. That's why she was so skinny: she had trouble foraging for food. In spite of my lifelong contempt for cats I felt a connection to her. She moved in with me in 1994 on the day I realized that she was declawed. A veterinarian confirmed that she was female and I named her Amanda.
On my birthday in 1999 my friend Brian gave me a sculpture of a cat draped in robes sitting in the cross-legged style of the Buddha. His hands are folded and he has a serene, peaceful expression on his face. I LOVED my new statue and had to admit that I was a full-fledged "cat person." Cat Buddha is sitting here on my desk as I write this.
This morning Amanda is not here. Yesterday I took her to the vet because she seemed so listless and had dropped a considerable amount of weight in the past few days. Usually she fights a healthy battle to prevent me from getting her in her carrier. Yesterday she did not even attempt much of a struggle. In the car there were no highly indignant meows. Her vet became concerned instantly when she saw Amanda's glazed look and lethargic demeanor. Amanda was taken from me to be hooked up to an IV. She managed a feeble growl at the assistant who was picking her up as I kissed her goodbye on the head.
I cried as I drove to work, but resolved to think positive thoughts. Shortly before 6PM last night the vet told me that Amanda had eaten something toxic. She would recover at the hospital overnight and I would probably be able to take her home tomorrow, (which is now today!)
What a relief!!!! Today is a beautiful morning. Larry, Amanda's boyfriend, and I can't wait to bring her home again. Larry is a twelfth-or-so-generation street cat who barely cheated death himself in 2000.
I'm sure anyone who does not like cats stopped reading this long ago. Let me recommend a great book to anyone who is still reading, though, because you probably share my cat sentiments. It is "Where Cats Meditate" by David Baird. I found it at Barnes and Noble on Valentine's Day, and it is a collection of photographs and quotations. If you find it I hope you get as much joy from it as I have.