Two cat tales
I'm just back from a 3-day meditation retreat. One of the teachers brought her 17-year-old cat, Mickey (named for the mouse), because he is dying. His body is skeletal and lists a bit as he (very slowly) walks. He is deaf and his eyes look glazed, but he responds to touch. His caretaker told us that during his younger years he was not especially enthusiastic about people, but as he approaches the end of life, he has settled into an accepting state-- almost sweet, really. He seemed not to be in pain, but he hadn't been taking food for about 9 days.
On the first night of the retreat, the head teacher mentioned that if the cat died, we would bury it and hold a small ceremony. Usually the teacher with the cat would teach some movement meditation during the retreat, but that was put aside because Mickey was taking her attention.
But this weekend, Mickey surprised us by taking milk and chicken broth. Apparently it was not quite time. He hung around in the grass near the dining hall, where many retreatants made friends with him.
Here's the other tale: During interview time (when it's OK to talk), one retreatant told about her 17-year-old cat who had passed away a few years ago. This cat could not tolerate being indoors most of his life, but at the end, he accepted a place in the garage. They tended him there, waiting for his time to go.
One night at 2 am, the woman heard the garage door go up. She went to investigate, but found nothing obvious, so she closed the door and went back to bed. In the morning, the cat was gone, and they never saw him again. Nor has the garage door ever spontaneously opened again.
On the first night of the retreat, the head teacher mentioned that if the cat died, we would bury it and hold a small ceremony. Usually the teacher with the cat would teach some movement meditation during the retreat, but that was put aside because Mickey was taking her attention.
But this weekend, Mickey surprised us by taking milk and chicken broth. Apparently it was not quite time. He hung around in the grass near the dining hall, where many retreatants made friends with him.
Here's the other tale: During interview time (when it's OK to talk), one retreatant told about her 17-year-old cat who had passed away a few years ago. This cat could not tolerate being indoors most of his life, but at the end, he accepted a place in the garage. They tended him there, waiting for his time to go.
One night at 2 am, the woman heard the garage door go up. She went to investigate, but found nothing obvious, so she closed the door and went back to bed. In the morning, the cat was gone, and they never saw him again. Nor has the garage door ever spontaneously opened again.
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