Uma's Wet Kiss

A wet kiss woke me from sleep this morning. No, it wasn't the Wonder in my life. That one had been up since dawn making the world safe for executive meetings. No, not her. The wet kisser was Uma, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford Hall. 

I knew it was her right away because, despite her royal titles, her kissing behavior isn't continental--one cheek suffices for her greetings.

As soon as my eyes were open, she left the bed and danced out into the hallway. She slowed only at the bottom of the staircase where she called for me to join her.

When I arrived, she was in mid-squat, the better to sit in my hand and ascend the stairs to her window seat in Wonder's office. 

I apologize to members of the Inner Circle for stopping the narrative here for a bit of station identification. But I feel the newcomers may benefit from a little background.

You see, Uma has season tickets for the box seat overlooking the beginning of another day in Lanvale Forest. She likes to be settled in before the curtain goes up on sunrise, the better to witness the arrival of the big yellow school bus.

Ms. Wonder and I feel we owe her our support in these morning rituals because it's she who taught us that all cats are created equal and endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, among these are the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Now that's done, let's return to our regularly scheduled programming.

Once Uma was comfortable and ready for the first act in the daily drama, I rushed across town for my weekly mood tuneup. Nothing major, just a change of attitude and the usual 21-point assessment. I was bucked this morning because I had good news to report.

"I'm journaling," I announced to Beach. If you haven't been introduced, Beach is my therapist. I probably should have put that in footnotes but we're not big on procedure here.

"How's that going?" she asked.

"It's good," I said. "I don't know how to quantify the benefits but I'm enjoying it and I think enjoying it is important."

"Of course," she said. "Journaling is an example of an expressive coping method, which is a technique that helps a person overcome negative thoughts, feelings, or experiences by releasing them. When you write about them, they can have less power over you."

"Ahh," I said, and then because I wanted to tell her a story that involved me as the main star, I said, "I've also been socializing more."

"Journaling can help you cope with anxious thoughts," she said, "by putting your thoughts into words and then putting them aside rather than letting them become an obsession."

"Right," I said. "I had an interesting experience in a coffee shop on my way here this morning."

"Emotional writing," she went on, "significantly decreases symptoms of depression too. People seem to get greater benefits when they focus on deep feelings and thoughts rather than simply recording daily experiences like a traditional diary."

"Are you writing this down for me," I asked.

"Did you say that you've been socializing more?" she said. "Are you attending more meetings?"

"Oh, no, nothing that drastic," I said. "But let me tell you about my visit to Native Grounds this morning."

"Do," she said, "I'll bet you hold me breathless with the story."

"This morning I was helped by a young barista and after the initial pourparlers, she said, "I really like your shirt."

Well, we all enjoy a good compliment, of course, and I thanked her and said that the shirt was a favorite."

"You always wear the coolest shirts," she said surprising me not a little. 

"Oh," I said, "you've made my day."

"Seeing you in your cool shirts makes my day," she said.

"I was non-plussed. I didn't expect such an encounter with someone taking my drink order. And it didn't stop there. When my bagel popped from the toaster, she brought it over to me."

"I see why you're in a good mood," said Beach, "What a wonderful way to start the day."

"Yes it was," I said. "That one act of kindness made me understand for the first time ever, why God decided against the total holocaust of Sodom or Gomorrah or both or whatever, all for the sake of one person--that one being Lot. It's more evidence that one person really can make all the difference."

"Hmmm," said Beach.

"Although I still think it a terrible prank," I said, "to turn Lot's wife into a pillar of salt just because she looked back at the home she was leaving. I mean, don't we all look when someone says, Don't look now but...?"

"I'm afraid that our time is up," Beach said.

"Don't forget the notes," I said. "I'll want to review in case there's a pop quiz."