Singer and Cat

So, Sam became my side-kick.  An unusual one since he wasn’t fond of my chosen profession of singing.  He had a loud, formidable voice that he used liberally.  He did not appreciate the talents of others, though, and would often complain with great vocal persistence when I would rehearse at home.  Funny, as I write this, I notice he came to a quiet acceptance of my singing in his last years – often choosing to sleep in the room where I would practice.

There were the many layers of mental and emotional impressions to work through as I brought personality up to speed with my life-stage and its attendant requirements and opportunities.  I enlisted the help of a therapist, and of course, Sam.

Fearless and dauntless, Sam attended to every size bruise.  Laying on the couch of my apartment, exploring the wounds of my psyche, I had the best of navigators with me.  He would lay on my heart and belly, and then the purring would begin.  Soft and rumbling, he would “lean in” and press his body and heart center close to my body and heart center.

Did this create a resonance?  A field?  Perhaps.  I was a scientist of health and wellness, though, and my requisite  findings would need to be practical.  How did it feel?  It felt loving and present, warm and fear-less.  Sam did not ask questions.  He did not ask if the pain was worthy of being felt.  He assumed, assumedly, that it was his job, simply, to love.   He loved me in those moments without fear or reservation or question or any intellectual content at all.

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