What's a tomorrow?

I can't talk to Beau about tomorrow or even about five minutes from now. He seems to anticipate the treat he gets before I leave for work each morning. But I think he reads the signs that tell him, I'm about to go. Truth is, he hasn't a clue how this time thing works. Dogs are pretty much stuck in the now.

And so are cats. Years ago when my hair was still brown, I had two cats, Shannon - the white one - and Elan. You see how keen they are to take over a lap. These pictures are several years apart and I can tell you, there were many times a cat, especially Shannon, jumped into my lap of a cold morning, curled into a ball, purring loud and shamelessly. What she didn't know was that I was just five minutes away from coming up out of that chair. I envied that - her ability to enjoy the perfection of the moment - to be so totally present that her contentment was deep and absolute. I'm here. I'm warm. Life is good.

We people, on the other hand, have that annoying frontal lobe -- which can easily frazzle a good cat nap: Darn, not much time - it's 8:35. She was supposed to be out of this chair by 8:30. But yesterday she sat 'til 8:45. Ten minutes I've got...maybe. Quick! Fall asleep. Crap! Is she getting up? No, just shifting to reach coffee. OK, five minutes, surely I've got five minutes more.

Admittedly, my frontal lobe has served me well - for the most part. I don't chase cars or dash out in front of them. I can't recall ever climbing a tree I couldn't get down from, although I find myself occasionally dangerously out on a limb. But what a gift it would be to enjoy a shoulder rub without fretting that it's going to end too soon.