cat religion
Oct. 25th, 2008 05:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Watching Chita today I have become convinced that I understand the religion of cats.
They worship the god of Sleep, and are his truest servants.
She sat on Z's flat belly (he sits slouched, his "lap" starting as a perfectly flat surface just below his ribs, over his pelvis, and down a very long way to his knees. There is a great deal of territory there for a cat to lounge upon) and washed herself, then moved from his belly to the couch beside him. She finished her bath, then settled down to nap.
This was not just any catnap. This was a nap of epic proportions. This was a creature thoroughly, blissfully dedicated to sleep, the way the dervishes abandon themselves to God in their dances, the way a choir's mingled voices swell toward heaven: that was the way Chita slept, with devout abandon.
I believe her nightly tantrums, Remi's morning rages, the yowling and chasing and invasion of our bedroom: these are the sacrifices they make to placate their God. Interrupting the sleep of others is their sacred duty. It makes us prize sleep the higher, and increases the glory of their deity.
And then, their sleep is the devotion they perform. Toes curling, whiskers twitching, head flattened upside-down against the cushion, belly exposed, tail wrapped around: it is all a slow-motion, sometimes-purring, beautiful offering to the God of Sleep.
She slept like that for nearly six hours this afternoon.
Hm, speaking of which the main thing I was looking forward to today was a nap, which I didn't get. Phooey. But, I did write a bunch, so i guess there's that. My head feels like a blown egg, achingly hollow but still slightly gooey.
I wish more than anything that there was a restaurant somewhere in Buffalo like the Rai-Rai Ken we used to visit on the Lower East Side. Real, authentic Japanese ramen, served in bowls the size of your head, with slices of pork, a fish-cake, a hard-boiled egg... Wonderful stuff, and the restaurant the size of my tiny kitchen in the suburbs, barely wide enough to get into. One winter day Z and I sat at the window, which was coated in condensation running in rivulets through fog from top to bottom. What a wonderful place, and my head would feel so much better.
But it is 400 miles away, and the closest place in Buffalo is a little place that serves pho, which would be nice but isn't what I want.
They worship the god of Sleep, and are his truest servants.
She sat on Z's flat belly (he sits slouched, his "lap" starting as a perfectly flat surface just below his ribs, over his pelvis, and down a very long way to his knees. There is a great deal of territory there for a cat to lounge upon) and washed herself, then moved from his belly to the couch beside him. She finished her bath, then settled down to nap.
This was not just any catnap. This was a nap of epic proportions. This was a creature thoroughly, blissfully dedicated to sleep, the way the dervishes abandon themselves to God in their dances, the way a choir's mingled voices swell toward heaven: that was the way Chita slept, with devout abandon.
I believe her nightly tantrums, Remi's morning rages, the yowling and chasing and invasion of our bedroom: these are the sacrifices they make to placate their God. Interrupting the sleep of others is their sacred duty. It makes us prize sleep the higher, and increases the glory of their deity.
And then, their sleep is the devotion they perform. Toes curling, whiskers twitching, head flattened upside-down against the cushion, belly exposed, tail wrapped around: it is all a slow-motion, sometimes-purring, beautiful offering to the God of Sleep.
She slept like that for nearly six hours this afternoon.
Hm, speaking of which the main thing I was looking forward to today was a nap, which I didn't get. Phooey. But, I did write a bunch, so i guess there's that. My head feels like a blown egg, achingly hollow but still slightly gooey.
I wish more than anything that there was a restaurant somewhere in Buffalo like the Rai-Rai Ken we used to visit on the Lower East Side. Real, authentic Japanese ramen, served in bowls the size of your head, with slices of pork, a fish-cake, a hard-boiled egg... Wonderful stuff, and the restaurant the size of my tiny kitchen in the suburbs, barely wide enough to get into. One winter day Z and I sat at the window, which was coated in condensation running in rivulets through fog from top to bottom. What a wonderful place, and my head would feel so much better.
But it is 400 miles away, and the closest place in Buffalo is a little place that serves pho, which would be nice but isn't what I want.
