The Way a Cat Follows the Sun Across the Room

When I walked in this morning, I found Juniper sitting in the middle of the living room, staring into space. Or at least I thought she was staring at nothing. But then the light changed. A new rectangle of light appeared on the floor, and she stood, stretched, and walked into the light like it was a scheduled appointment.

She slowly turned three times to test the light’s angle before folding her body down, tucking her paws under her chest, and shutting her eyes. In a matter of seconds, she was out.

I have no idea how Juniper knew the light was coming. Sure, it wasn’t there before, and the blinds hadn’t moved since they had been all morning. But she somehow anticipated it. She was in the perfect position at precisely the right time.

Copper doesn’t share this exacting philosophy. He naps anywhere: the couch, the rug, or the cool tile by the back door. But Juniper is all about timing and location. For her, sleep is an event that requires planning. A sunbeam is the perfect combination of location, temperature, and timing.

Over the years, I’ve seen her chase the light spot around the house. At the start of the day, the spot is on the living room floor. At noon, it is on the chair next to the window. In the late afternoon, it moves to the back of the couch. Juniper seems to know the path better than I do. She relocates as if she has mastered the geometry of every room in the house like a student preparing for a big exam.

One time, my husband joked about us rearranging the entire house just to make it easier for her. I laughed, but I also thought about it.

It’s hard not to feel some envy watching an animal curl up in a cozy spot. They don’t feel guilt about it, and they don’t worry about how they should be doing something else. They just find the warm spot and curl up. In contrast, I’m not like that.

I will find myself at my desk for hours, even when I start to feel an ache in my back and my eyes are growing tired. Lunch is not an excuse to stand up to go outside. I tell myself I don’t have the time to stretch and instead watch Junipercurl up on her third nap as if she were the most relaxed creature in the world.

I used to think that type of rest was excessive, as if it were something that could only be done after every task was done. But the reality is that all tasks will never be done.

Juniper’s not one for waiting around. She spends no time planning out her next moves. She shows up where the sun hits the ground, and as it moves, so too does she. She has structured an entire day around these fleeting hotspots, and she makes no excuses.

What I respect most is her ability to put seeking comfort on the top of the list. She has to just about everyone that laying in the sun is something worthy of her time and she dedicates to it as fully as possible. There are no phones, no people. All that is present for her is the warmth, the glow and the serene bliss of being in the right place.

Later on this day, the couch will have the sun, and there will be Juniper, waiting. And perhaps, for the very first time, I will join her. It will not be to work, to check out what is happening on the internet, or to strategize. I will be sitting there to do nothing for a short amount of time and enjoy the toasty goodness of the sun.

She won’t recognize me. Most of the time she does not. Still, I have a feeling that she will be pleased.