I swear to you, it's true. He's laying on the couch right now, his white-tipped paws crossed and his eyes barely open slits. Surely he is in tune with the innermost workings of the universe, for his every sleepy motion is one of strangely enlightened bliss.
I am prepared to welcome the massive influx of pilgrims that is bound to come knocking on my front door in search of the next Buddha. The Awakened One will most likely hold your audience around the wicker basket in the living room. His availability is highly volatile, however, and I must ask that you accommodate his busy schedule of grass-sneaking and rooftop-sitting. Also, please remember to take off your shoes at the front door, otherwise my mother will be upset.
Yes, we of rambunctious and unruly intellect have much to learn from my Zen master cat. He is haiku incarnate, the fluffy fulfillment of enlightened contentment...
As I watch his meditating form, he stirs briefly. His bright green eyes meet mine for an instant:
What?
Suffering?
Paradox?
Hmmm.
He purrs a little, and then sighs, licking his left paw before drifting back to sleep.
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