Eliot

Cats were initially domesticated for their ability to control rodents and other vermin; it was apparently advantageous to early man to give up a little of their shelter and food in order to keep mice and rats at bay. Reportedly, the pleasures of companionship came later. Legend has it that cats first came to China with the dharma - cats were needed to keep mice from shredding the paper sutras for their nests. To this day, cats are prized in monasteries all over the world; they keep the mice out of the sutras and the monks' living space and make pleasant living companions. At Zen Mountain Monastery in Mount Tremper, New York, I met a fat and very contented orange tabby much beloved by the sangha there.

Eliot the cat (above) moved into my little lay monastery about a month ago, and we've become good friends since. When he's not pursuing other interests outside, he follows me around the house, practically orbiting me. Whatever room I'm in, he follows and finds a place to nap and to pretend to ignore me (he's sleeping on the shelf over the computer monitor as I write this, basking in the warmth emitted by the CRT). He likes to be petted and he likes to be touched, but he doesn't like to be held and he doesn't like to sit on me. It took a few sessions before he got used to me sitting in zazen, but now he leaves me alone while I'm sitting and he knows that sooner or later, I'll return to activity. Best of all, he rarely uses his kitty-litter box, preferring to go outdoors. It's a pretty good arrangement, and this weekend I learned two new things about him.

I was at my computer yesterday when I heard a squeaking sound. Uncharacteristically, Eliot wasn't around just then, but I didn't think the sound was him - it sounded mechanical. After having to replace my leaking garbage disposal last Thursday, I walked into the kitchen anticipating another repair. In the kitchen, though, I was surprised to see Eliot batting a squeaking little mouse around the floor.

First of all, I have no idea what a mouse was doing in my kitchen. I've never seen signs of mice before - no droppings, no gnawed food packages, no furry little things skittering around in the corner of my eye. I believe my house to be rodent free; in fact, I never really thought much about them. I don't have mice, okay?

But Eliot was playing cat-and-mouse with something (actually, it looked more like a shrew than a mouse, but I didn't study it in too much detail). Typical of the game, he would pounce on it then release it, and just as it thought it was going to get away, he would pounce again, batting it across the floor with his paws. He hadn't drawn blood as far as I could see - it looked like he was keeping his claws retracted.

While Eliot was keeping the mouse or shrew or whatever busy, I opened the back door and then swept it outside with a broom. Eliot followed and continued his game across the back patio and down the side steps until finally he lost his prey to a gap in the retaining wall. He watched the gap and meowed to me as if he expected me to somehow retrieve his new toy for him. It was then that I learned my first lesson of this weekend - Eliot does not yet know how to kill. This is not a bad thing.

I learned my second lesson today. I plan on taking him on his first trip to the vet this week, so I stopped at PetSmart this afternoon and bought a little carrying case. I wanted him to get used to it first to somewhat relieve the trauma of his first medical experience. I bought a snazzy little number and while there, I shopped around a little bit for new cat toys before finally settling on an ounce of catnip.

I've had cats before. Growing up, I learned many of the facts of life from watching our family cat give birth to and nurse several litters of kittens. A former live-in girlfriend was accompanied by a mean-tempered cat who attacked us frequently and without provocation, and a few years ago, I spoiled an adopted kitten rotten until neither one of us could stand the other and I had to palm it off on another former girlfriend. But the reaction to catnip of these and other cats I've known has ranged from a mild preference to outright disinterest.

But when I offered Eliot a pinch of ground catnip, he went absolutely bonkers - eating it, rolling in it, and rubbing it on his head. He then started chasing his own tail, spinning around in circles, before collapsing on the floor and kicking his legs madly in the air while purring loudly. Crazy cat. When I offered him the little plushie mouse in which he previously hadn't shown much interest, he took it between his paws and started tearing into it like it was the last toy on earth.

He calmed down after a while, and once things had returned to normal, I repeated the experiment, offering him another pinch of catnip while he was sleeping on the ottoman. The results were generally the same, and he nearly destroyed the ottoman in his herbally induced frenzy. And that was when I learned my second lesson of this weekend - Eliot's a stoner.

Every cat has its own personality, and Eliot is as exceptional as every other cat ("Why can't I be different and original like everybody else?"). Heeding Suzuki, I will continue to give him a large pasture, and just observe.