I have a cat. His name is Simon. In truth, I don’t think he’s a cat at all. I think he’s an angel who has come to grace my life, a muse in disguise, my “familiar,” a source of comfort and endless delight. My neighbors think he is a badass but I know better. When I’m conscious enough, Simon is a source of valuable insight.

The other night was one  of those times. I was sleeping peacefully until Simon’s piercing, deep, “hey it’s me, heads up, pay attention” meow woke me. I had gone to bed without him, knowing that when he was good and ready he’d grace me with his presence. Usually I hear the sound of the cat door opening and closing, then a few soft meows telling me he’s home and then a pounce on the bed, a   sniff of my face, a kiss on my nose, a lot of circling and then plop: he lands.

It was 11:45 p.m. I wanted to get some rest: my alarm was set for a 5:30 a.m. boot camp. Part of me wanted to greet him and tell him to come to bed but another part of me said to get up and check things out. So I reluctantly turned on the light, and lo and behold, there was Simon with a little friend. He was playing a game of cat and mouse–literally–in my bedroom.

“Look, Mom! I brought you a present! Ain’t I the best?”

In the not-too-distant past I might have screeched, jumped up on my bed, shouted expletives and barked orders for him to “get that damn thing outta my house NOW!” Instead, I was an observer of the scene, sensing at once his joy in chasing the mouse, and the poor little mouse’s fear as it tried to get away. They both ran from my bedroom into the room across the hall. As I watched I tried to figure out how to get Simon’s plaything out alive. In the kitchen I grabbed a coffee cup and a folder lying on the counter. Heading back into the bedroom, I saw the mouse go under the bed. So did Simon.

I waited for the chase to resume but nothing happened. It was as if the mouse vanished into thin air. Simon was perplexed: he patted the side of the bed, he looked under the bed, and he looked at me as if to say “what the —?”

Decision time for me. Do I try and find the mouse so I could go back to sleep in peace, or do I go back to bed with fearful images of the mouse lurking around? Hmmm…I looked at Simon on the floor as he calmly and expectantly watched the bed.

I turned off the lights and climbed back into my bed, consciously praying for sanity–not fear–to prevail. I slept like a baby. When I awoke I went into the spare bedroom and found Simon curled up on the bed, no conquest in sight. Before leaving for boot camp I made one more attempt to locate the mouse. Since I had seen it go under the bed, I wondered if it had actually gone into the bed. I tentatively patted the covers. Lo and behold I felt a little mound. No movement. I cautiously turned over the bedspread and there it was. I felt both sad and relieved. Mystery solved. Unceremoniously I picked up the dead mouse with a washcloth and brought it outside. That was that. Next stop: boot camp, here I come.

So what, you might be asking, is the valuable insight with which Simon blessed me? I reflected on the incident during my morning walk, shaking my head and marveling at how my cat amuses me. I considered the following:

• I listened to and respected my intuition to get up and pay attention. The far easier choice was to stay in bed, in the dark, and cajole him to stop his racket. Instead, I reinforced my willingness to listen to my intuition more consistently and not succumb to what’s easier.

• I saw myself as a calm observer of the scene and noted in the moment that I was a calm observer, fully present in the moment, watching, not judging or reacting.

• I love my cat, so I was willing to see his behavior as natural, not “bad.” Although I’m not always crazy about his behavior I know that I can see beyond what my five senses tell me.

• He presented a situation that gave me an opportunity to consciously ask the sane part of my mind for help to respond from love and not fear.

Pay attention. Be present. Be willing to see differently. Ask love and not fear for guidance. Clearly perceived, an unwanted gift is actually a call to choose love regardless of the situation.

Thank you, Simon. Thank you, mouse.

Marguerite LaDue

4/19/16