She was probably less than a month old and weighed not even a pound when she first “appeared” in my life. A passerby had heard her mewing desperately from the crawl space beneath the local shelter for battered and abused women, “Women Helping Women”. She was all alone, apparently left to her own devices by circumstances that will never be known. The parallels to my own troubled nativity were striking. My heart immediately opened to her. She had no tail, per se, just a tight twist of fur on her rump that resembled a misplaced topknot. Weeks later, at her first veterinarian exam, the vet commented, “She doesn’t have a tail. She has a question mark!”. Twelve years later, the same Vet facilitated the release of her big spirit from the body that would no longer allow her to eat or groom.
The poor baby girl was so starved that when we placed an open can of cat food in front of her, she straddled it like she was driving a bus, dropped her head down into it and just inhaled as much food as she possibly could. Despite her hearty appetite, she was understandably frightened by all the upset and commotion and strangeness that defined this alien world. However, once her little belly was full and she awoke from a much-needed nap, she spotted Derry, who had come over to give her a little welcoming kiss. Derry was a 5 year old long-haired dachshund who had never fathered any offspring but he seemed to understand that this little black kitty was his hanai (adoptive) daughter. He actually proceeded to give her a bath which had the effect of not only completely relaxing Bushi but it also appeared to kick-start her digestive system so she could have what may very well have been her first solid poop.
Quickly recognizing a kinship between furry four-leggeds, Bushi and Derry became best friends-if not father and daughter. Twelve years later, Derry began showing up at her door every day for a visit the week before her cancer diagnosis. They were that bonded to each other. In fact, Derry still stops by every day to check on her, though Bushi’s been gone a month at the time of this writing.
Bushi Bear was a tremendous bundle of energy, frequently zipping around “like a herd of buffalo”, seemingly so enthused with life and her place in it. She would scamper up trees, climb up and down door screens, vault over furniture. She would go charging out of one cat door and a minute letter come flying in through the other one on the opposite end of the house.
In many ways she was as much canine as she was feline. To my knowledge, she never used a litter box even though one was always available to her. Her default potty-place was a piece of paper. And it didn’t matter what kind of paper or where it was lying. The pile of mail on the kitchen counter was just as inviting as a piece of newspaper on the floor. And just like Rogue and L’il Bear, her canine forbears, she was always so excited to see me walk through the door -every time- that she would run in circles and try to get me to chase her.
I had the sense that she never really took her eye off me. She seemed to have mapped my daily routines and would often follow me around the property while I did my various chores. I could often “feel” her eyes upon me, peering out from some discrete hiding place, behind a bush or under the deck. She had certain checkpoints for me throughout the day where our lives would intersect. These included beginning the day with snuggles, escorting me through my morning routines, greeting me whenever I came across the threshold into the house, reporting for daily shower, followed by daily nap. If I was spending more time than usual on a project and had not returned home at my normal time, she would come looking for me and, once she found me, just sit there and wait for me to notice. It was uncanny.
More than once, much to my chagrin, she followed me all the way to the mailbox which is down a steep hill and across a paved public road. And, of course, all the way back up. She adamantly refused my offer of a free ride.
I am an early riser, usually up by 3 am. Bushi would get up in my lap for morning snuggles even before my first coffee. She would walk with me in the dark across the meadow to the zendo. She would then post herself outside the door where she would sit patiently until I finished zazen, and then walk me back home again.
She also liked to watch me do my daily sunrise practice of Tai Chi Chuan. In fact, she would often perch herself on one of my feet or the other and ride it as if she were some venerable Shaolin master forcing me to hone my poise and balance.
The moment I lay down for my daily afternoon nap, she would invariably jump up on the bed beside me, snuggle her head into my side at various spots and then finally settle by curling up down at my feet with her back intentionally pressed against my toes. If she heard the shower being turned on, she would come out to sit on the step and watch, delighting in the misty spray that would drift over here. She would then stand between my legs as I toweled off, her strong preference being that I towel her off in the process.
She was a girl with very definite limits and she was not shy about making them clear. She loved attention and affection, but only to a point. There was very little warning when her “hard no” had been breached-the lightning quick swipe of a clawed paw, possibly a bloody bite. These natural defenses were not to be confused with the “I love you so much I just have to bite you” episodes which were just as bloody but rather endearing in a feral kind of way. Speaking of feral, she was also wont to sleep with her claws out. I have not observed that peculiar behavior in other cats I have had.
She had numerous favorite places to sleep around the house and would alternate between them. But every night, she would come up on my bed for a snuggle before heading to one of her private lairs. At some point in the middle of night (usually between Midnight and 3 AM) she would come back up into my bed and slowly and systematically snuggle up the entire perimeter of my body, ending at my head, which she would begin to knead, not intending to bloody me with her sharp claws. It became a thing between us. All I had to do was lift my head once and she would scamper away…no hard feelings.
On the infrequent occasions that I would travel off-island, I have been told that she would position herself down at the parking lot-the place she had last seen me drive away-and keep a vigil during my entire absence.
Dogs and cats make wonderful pets, of course, and it can be a beautiful symbiotic relationship. For someone like myself whose history with intimate human companionship is less than sterling, an animal ally can really improve the quality of life. Bushi Bear was not your average household feline. She was so much more than that. She was (and is) my daemon, my “familiar”. The spirit that expressed through the cat Bushi has been with me my whole life lived thus far and will be with me for the remainder of it. I have no question about that.
It is a great blessing to be able to walk in a good way through this shamanic mystery that we call Life. To be doubly-blessed with a loyal and loving companion, a four-legged furbaby, watching one’s back from across the Great Divide, well, it just doesn’t get better than that!
I hope and pray that I was as good a friend and companero to her as she was to me. RIP, my little Bushi Bear.
Recent Comments