Cat-ppetites

When I sit down for my morning meditation, Sundance comes to investigate.

I can almost hear her feline mind going: "Why is the room quiet? Why is he sitting there doing nothing?"

She comes over and meows. She waits. She paces around and rubs up against my legs. She meows more loudly. She paws at my pants leg. She climbs up on the bookcase next to me. She whines pathetically. She jumps down. She sits right between my feet and purrs. She meows questioningly. She waits quietly for a minute, then tries again. She cries and jumps up on the corner of the bed where she can stare at me. She finally turns around, goes to the other side of the bed up by my pillow, turns around a couple of times and settles down, wraps her tail around her, closes her eyes and goes to sleep. I can meditate undisturbed.

I have heard that appetites, even disordered or excessive ones, will only bother you for five minutes or so. If I can resist the impulse to satisfy the hunger or thirst or greed for just five minutes, not stroke it, not scratch the itch, not examine it or analyze it for five minutes, it will eventually act like Sundance and go away.

Just like Sundance, however, it will be there every morning!

In Twelve Step programs they say, "While I am in here at a meeting, my disease is out in the hall, doing pushups."