— Edythe Preston Hardie
The Midnight Audit
The regulation of my central nervous system begins at 3:15 AM. It is the time of the Audit. At 14 pounds, she is a heavy gravity, a tactical insertion of fur and bone onto my diaphragm. She doesn’t meow; she simply stands there, four points of pressure pinning me to the mattress, waiting for the haptic feedback of my heart.
She steps on me to make sure I made it through the night. She also wants her food. Her concern for me is completely self-oriented; she needs the “Can-Opener-In-Chief” to be functional. Yet, in this calculated concern, my own anxiety evaporates. To her, my sleep is a suspicious state—a simulation of death that threatens her primary resource. By forcing me to prove I am alive, she gives me a reason to be. I reach out with those silvery light fingers, and the cortisol in my blood drops. The Audit is complete; the asset is functional.
The Fiscal and Physical Body
I have no separate existence from this cat who has absolutely taken over. She is the reason I am thin. I began to weigh her food to the gram, counting her calories with the fervor of a mathematician to keep her 14-pound frame lean and healthy. In doing so, I saw my own reflection in her bowl. It felt hypocritical to curate her life with such devotion while treating my own body like a landfill.
As I counted her calories, I began to count mine. As I budgeted for her premium food, I learned to save money. I became a person of discipline because she required a steward who was stable. I behave myself for her sake. I have to walk carefully because she gets underfoot, rubbing her mass against my ankles and feet, getting tangled up when she wants attention. I move with a liquid grace now, not for my own vanity, but because I am afraid that I will fall and break the peace we have built.
The Sovereignty of Sleep
She makes all decisions, including the sleeping arrangements. Every flat surface in this apartment belongs to her, including me when I am resting. I am merely a warm, breathing topography for her to claim.
However, this dominion comes with a strict code of conduct. The slightest move of my toe can send her flying out of the bed in protest. It is a silent, stinging indictment of my restlessness. If I fidget, she vanishes, and I won’t see her again until I settle down. She has trained my biology. She has cured my insomnia by making the cost of movement too high. To keep her near, I must achieve a state of perfect, meditative paralysis. I have been disciplined into tranquility.
The Cat’s Rules for Humans
1. The Law of the Silvery Touch
Never approach with the “meat hook hand.” All contact must be as light as planting a seed. If your touch is heavy with your own need, you have failed. The human provides the touch; the Cat determines the duration.
2. The 3:00 AM Vitality Audit
The Human shall not be offended when stepped upon in the dark. This is a wellness check. Your ribcage is a percussion instrument, and the Cat must play it to ensure the “Can-Opener-In-Chief” is still breathing.
3. The Doctrine of the Flat Surface
There is no such thing as “Human furniture.” If a surface is horizontal, it is a runway. If it is warm and breathing, it is a perch. If it is covered in books and devices, it is a sophisticated feline nesting ground.
4. The Toe-Twitch Prohibition
During the hours of rest, the Human shall remain as a statue. The slightest movement of a digit—specifically the toe—is a breach of contract. Violation will result in immediate feline evacuation and a period of isolation until the Human proves they have regained their stillness.
5. The Mirror Diet
The Human shall recognize that the Cat’s body is a temple. Therefore, the Human’s body must also be a temple. If the Cat is lean, the Human must be lean. To be clumsy or overweight is to be a hazard to the Sovereign who lives underfoot.
6. The Window-Pane Philosophy
Time is not for “spending”; it is for “taking in.” The Human must spend at least one hour daily staring at the New Reality outside the window. Do not look for anything specific; let the stillness enter through your eyes until it settles in your marrow.
7. The Liturgy of the Brush
Grooming is not a chore; it is a meditation. The Human shall brush the Cat until the outside world disappears. As the fur becomes sleek, the Human’s neurosis must also be smoothed away.
8. The Prime Directive
Before any action—be it opening a door, changing the channel, or shifting a leg—the Human must ask: “Is the Cat okay with this?” If the answer is not a definitive “Yes,” the Human shall remain exactly where they are.
9. The Final Result
By following these rules, the Human shall cease to be a “Human” and shall achieve the enlightened state of The Merged. You have given up your separate existence to become the Purr.
Edythe Preston is a poet and artist with an undergraduate degree in Art from UVA and a graduate background in Creative Writing from the University of Tampa. A Rosary Minister at Sacred Heart and Companion of the Society of St. Francis, Edythe also studies Buddhism in the Plum Village tradition. Deeply influenced by Thich Nhat Hanh’s concept of “interbeing,” Edythe finds inspiration in the moon and the company of a gray cat—noting that gray, as a neutral between black and white, beautifully represents the Middle Way.
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