don’t be a copy cat

There were four cats along the way on my walk Sunday morning. I believe they served as lookouts; as gatekeepers; as ambassadors of the quiet – the walk slow and gentle -and it would not have been the same without them.

(Here are two lines from a poem by Han Shan — “I sit silent and alone beneath cliffwalls, a full moon adrift and dazzling in sky.”)

One of the great benefits of hanging out with cats on walks is that there’s no explaining. Not a syllable of explanation necessary.

Cat #1 Sunday morning was in a second-story window, south (Oakland) side of the street, all of its neck-following focus on me making my famous kitty noises (yes, through glass), waving my arms, trying my best to be a decent companion. NE Stanton St. Cat #2 is sitting on a windowsill on a porch on the other side of a fence from the sidewalk, offering small meows of hello and, I think, gratitude for the genuine attention and clear adoration received, my emotional default line. NE 7th Ave.

Cat #3 literally bounded off a porch, something urgent in its energy and call, talk talk talk, rushing over to rub up against, offer its stretched neck for luscious scratching. It’s raised butt too. Down NE 7th Ave. The fourth cat, seemingly casual strolling with a young woman and her small, leashed dog, took one look at me when I sang my goofy gato hello, turned around, and followed the others away. Blase’ on NE Tillamook.

What’s not to love about early Sunday walks.