I owe my kitten. She made me forget all about a really crummy week just by being her eight-month-old-grey-tabbied self. Watching Wick look at the outside world as if everything in it is her personal play toy made me realize that life is too short to stress over things I can do nothing about (computers, etc.).
There is something about the effervescent joy of a kitten. There is nothing that doesn’t fascinate or entertain Wick. Everything is fun for her, and if she could laugh, I think we’d hear it often. She sure hears ours often enough, and much of it is because of her.
On this day, our friend Rueben comes to help with a ladder and a leaf blower when we’re ready to clean the eaves. I am sure that Wick will take her long, white-tipped tail to quieter territory where she can bat at a blade of grass when Rueben’s machine roars to life, but when that blower fires up, Wick doesn’t run away. It’s almost as if she knows what’s coming, and she can’t wait to be a part of it. I can see the gleam in those expressive green eyes from here.
A season’s worth of leaves and muck has me covering the barbecue and backing up slowly, eying the roofline with trepidation. The wet, black leaves begin to fly and I scamper. Wick is braver than I am, as she runs towards the storm of decay.
My bad week fades when Wick starts chasing those falling leaves. She jumps high (an impressive four feet or so) into the air to catch an unsuspecting victim before it hits the ground. She misses, but makes up for her kitten-clumsiness by executing a perfect back flip with a half-gainer and twist, landing a 10.0 dismount that impressed even the squirrels in the trees.
Before the first gush of belly laughter is out of me, she’s jumping again and catches her prey. The black leaf lays limp in her teeth. She stands as proud as any jaguar on its kill. She trots towards me, head held high. She drops the leaf in front of me and waits. I reward her as if she’s brought me the head of Osama Bin Laden on a plate (rewarding Wick is important, because we’re hoping, eventually, she’ll bring us the heads of dozens of field mice on a plate.).
When she feels properly praised, she’s back at it, and I forget all about whatever bothered me so much about last week. I am half tempted to join Wick in her leaf romp, but I don’t think I’d relish the taste of mouldy leaves much.
I can pretty much guarantee that tomorrow will hold some kind of stress. But before I let myself get all caught up in the worries of pleasing everyone with a job well done, I’m going to grab the laser pointer and watch Wick chase it as she always does, never giving up hope of one day catching that elusive pinpoint of red light, no matter how many walls she smacks into in the process. After all, laughter is the best medicine for a bad day.
