My friend sent me, via text message, this picture of her mother’s cat:
Something about this cat picture, sent to me two weeks into house arrest via coronapocalypse, spoke to a place deep inside me. I felt this cat. This cat knew something important about the universe.
I wanted this cat to replace the bald eagle on U.S. Currency.
I wanted a national holiday dedicated to honoring that cat.
I wanted to tattoo this cat on my bicep; I wanted this cat’s image repeated over and over on my wallpaper.
I asked what his name was. It was, allegedly, “Simba.”
No. No no no no no no. Simba is far too pedestrian and Disneyfied for so great a cat. I did a quick internet search and learned that Cleopatra’s cat was named Bastet. I decided Bast-Et looked more mysterious and wise and I re-christened the cat Bast-Et. I told my friend.
“I shall tell my mother you renamed him,” she said.
“No,” I said. “It is your mother who renamed him. He has always been Bast-Et. Your mother attempted to rename him.”
“Ah, that would explain the look he gives her when she tries to call him by name.”
“Though honestly,” my friend mused, “Bast-Et gives zero craps about much of anything.”
This sealed it. One should not adore a creature that craves adoration. Only one that gives zero craps is deserving of such adoration.
“We shall give offerings of fresh tuna to Bast-Et. Though not-so-fresh-tuna is just as good. Because of the zero craps thing. Bast-Et is not so picky so long as he gets tuna.” I said.
“And we shall give Bast-Et the first gleaning of the crop of catnip.” My friend said.
“And the last gleaning,” I said. “What else are you going to do with catnip?”
We were joking of course. Sort of. It did seem like Bast-Et/Simba had figured something out that we hadn’t. We humans with our big brains were fighting our house arrest, worried about the future and the present, going a little stir-crazy, and trying to figure out how to fill time until the world got back to normal. But Bast-Et was just chilling in his bean bag chair, waiting for his next offering of liver treats, taking naps in sunbeams, and basically going about life moment-by-moment. Tell me that’s not some ancient wisdom right there.
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Lori B. Duff is an award-winning author who practices law on the side. Her latest book, “If You Did What I Asked in the First Place” was awarded the Gold Medal for humor in the Foreword INDIES awards in 2019. You can follow her on Twitter at @LoriBDuff and on Facebook. For more blogs written by Lori, click here. For more information about Lori in general, click here. If you want Lori to do your writing for you, click here. If you want Lori to help you market your book, click here.