The Cat and the Sunbeam and What She Knows About Afternoons

At 2:00 in the afternoon, I find the cat standing and staring at the floor, near the fridge. Her tail is still, and her ears are pointed forward. It looks like she’s waiting for something, but realistically, she will be waiting for nothing.

Then the movement happens.

The light is shifting, and it just so happens to be the sun. It’s just now clearing the neighbor’s roof and moving through the window in the specific autumn way. Suddenly, a gold rectangle is shining on the floor. The cat steps into it almost like she’s entering a hot tub. The cat turns around a couple of times, and just like that she is curled up inside of her, eyes shut before she’s even settled.

I’ve seen the cat and how she acts in the sunlight so many times, yet it remains certian and surprising. I’ve seen her leave while I was mocking her and climb past me simply walking down the hall. All of that because the sun is shining in that specific spot.

There’s no question for her. She doesn’t think about whether the sun beam will be there when she finishes grooming, she doesn’t question the shine. The sun is there so she is there, and that is the whole decision.

When I’m sitting at my desk, the hours crawling, I’m thinking about all the different ways I could spend this time. I have a list of things I want to do. There are six browser tabs open. I’ve got a book I’ve been meaning to start, I need to organize my closet, and there’s a message I should answer at some point. Tasks and options start piling up while I sit, sorting them like index cards and losing track of time without taking action on any of them.

Unlike me, my cat doesn’t do any of that. She doesn’t sort, she doesn’t optimize, and she definitely doesn’t create a new purpose for a sunbeam or decide that lying in it while working on other things is a good plan. She simply goes to the light.

It is inaccurate to describe her as ‘simple.’ Anyone who has lived with a cat knows better. While living with a cat, one sees how sophisticated, innovative, and strategic they can be with food, territory, and timing with requests for attention. However, during a sunbeam moment all of her complications dissolve. There is just the warmth that is on her fur and the beam will not be there forever. So, why should she be anywhere else?

I don’t think there is a lesson here to be learned. I don’t want to make her some kind of metaphor for mindfulness, presence, or any of the other things we could all be better at. What I do notice is that when I stop trying to solve a problem or affect an outcome and just do one thing, any one thing, and move toward the thing as she moves toward the sunbeam apocalypse, I can settle.

Unlike the sunlight, she won’t regret leaving the sunbeam previously, and she also won’t regret not checking her email.

Simply, it was warm, and that was all it gave her. I think that might be enough.