A Cat’s Guide to Coping with Grief

The past two weeks have been an ordeal for us humans here at the homestead, but through the sadness of losing their Mum, our remaining cats - brothers Titan and Orion – have been a constant source of comfort and kitty cuddles. Their father ran out on them before they were born. Scratchy was their parents, and now they are orphaned. It really should be us furless ones consoling them.

Yet, the boys get along with their cattypuss routine just as they did before. There’s a little more food in their dish at din dins, a little less poop in the litter tray and extra space on the bed to choose from when curling up to sleep, but there’s no trauma… no frantic pacing of the house, crying and howling, mourning the loss of their dear mother.

As the cyber-pandemic of hyper-viral cat memes shows, we like to project opinion upon our kitties, and though I’m sure there have been a number of moments and incidents since Scratchy died that I could narrate as the boys recognising their loss, they would be romantic imaginations.

One such event was that I was cuddling them both on my bed and – which happens rarely – they were close beside each other. Titan gave a polite nod to Orion, before bopping foreheads, and – almost unheard of – Orion didn’t feel he had to retaliate. He bopped right back, with a purr. I wondered if they realised it was just the two of them, now, and maybe they were becoming closer because of it. Almost the instant I thought that, Titan bit Orion’s ear. He couldn’t resist it. It’s what he does. Orion leapt up and swiped Titan across the face, then he jumped off the bed and ran downstairs.

The truth is, they’re just getting on with their lives, doing what they always do, and though, through the filter of the human ego, it may seem they’re coldly aloof to Scratchy’s disappearance, it gives me peace that they don’t grieve like we do.

Eckhart Tolle famously wrote:

“I’ve lived with several Zen masters - all of them cats.”

Such truth, and we can learn so much about present awareness just by making our fluffy companions the focus of our attention… and, thus, zoning into the moment. Depending on their schedule and assuming they have free time for a massage, lovingly stroking a kitty is a perfect portal to a wrap-around experiment in mindfulness.

(There will be so many people out there who will insist that practicing mindfulness is too difficult, to the point of assuming it’s personally impossible, yet they’ll do it like masters when they’re pampering their pussies.)

In the first few days after Scratchy departed, I’d look at Titan and Orion and get a sick feeling in my chest, wondering which one would be next… which one would be left… how much longer would I have with them? I soon recognised and recalled, though, that that was just my stupid ego-brain thinking – not to be listened to, as usual - and miring myself in such consideration was wasting both our time.

Now, once again, I find myself hypnotised by them as they flop down beside me, purring and snuggling in beside my chest, or as they dance around the garden, tails up, chasing a moth or something that most likely isn’t even there. I watch, listen and feel… and smell, too, occasionally, when they yawn mid-cuddle and I get a waft of cat breath. (I was going to say that no, the final of the five senses is off the agenda when immersed in the cat appreciation experience, but I swear, sometimes Titan lets one off and it is so thick and rancid a pollutant of the air, you do seem to be able to taste it, even if you evacuate to other areas of the house.)

Focussing the senses allows us to become reacquainted with joys the mind has long-ago labelled mundane. You can drive through the same stunning woodland every weekday morning, but only ever see the road. You can look at your partner and see a familiar face, rather than get that rush of adoration, lust and gratitude that used to hit you in the early days of your relationship. A purr can be just a noise you hear.

Invoking present awareness gives us the opportunity to refresh our experience of life. It can be a challenge to keep on refreshing, especially when you feel like you’re under artillery assault from the encircling armed forces of Shitland, but the wild thing is that – truly in every moment; including the toughest moments – we can step back into our tranquil centre and let go… even just for a little while… shutting out the mental clatter and all the drama that whistles and whirls around us as we forge forward along these paths we choose to walk.

I’d like to come back as a cat, if reincarnation works. Our ‘superior’ Super-Ape brains are good for a great many things – such as inventing the Internet and discovering the perfect recipe for Carrot Cake – but, despite all the philosophical rumblings from humanity over these past few thousand years of so-called civilisation, cats are far our superior when it comes to just chilling out and letting worries drift away.

Cats are indeed our little Zen teachers, and not everyone will be fortunate enough to learn from them, but I am grateful for all the lessons from my feline friends, past, present and future. I will aspire to be more like a cat from meow on!

(P.S. If you've enjoyed this and have the will and ability to contribute to my ‘fighting fund’…  donations would be most welcome through PayPal, at ‘Lesism@btinternet.com’. Anything would be greatly appreciated!)