Cats can be assholes.
But they also sense when we are sore or sad or sick and they come close to bring comfort. My sister’s cat wouldn’t come near me until that one day when I was feeling awful. It hopped up beside me on the sofa.
I thought it odd at the time, but now I see it as a form of love. The cat came close out of the goodness of its heart.
The goodness of its heart.
The stuff out of which we are all made.
We are all composed of goodness. The cat. Even an asshole cat. Even an asshole person. Or a tricky awful situation. All composed of goodness.
Can I relax my heart and meet these things with the same goodness? Can I meet that stupid, unsolvable problem with tenderness?
Why not? Cats do.
