typewriter_legswtypewriter_sample_img_2Our Bagherra is a substantial cat—older now—who thinks she IS the celebrated panther in The Jungle Book. In winter we find her near the heat register licking her shiny, coal-black fur. She doesn’t like it ruffled; ever! She has a few coffee-color marks on her chest; who knows from where in her family tree.

Bagherra’s favorite pose is a stretched-out body, head held high, with front paws crossed one over the other; no less regal than the stealth of any panther. She is a pound animal in more ways than one: large and fussy about her food and water; fresh, fresh, fresh and a full bowl, always! As a paranoid kitten she hid inside the wall insulation in the basement. Our remedy was to cover these holes with duct tape. Well, our basement was a room to just die for.

OKAY…NO! This is not another of those I love my cat stories; although I do. NO! It’s a story of growth: Bagherra’s and mine. It took our cat years to change: me too… I used insulation to shield my fears. I hid from life’s revelations. I watched who was friend or foe. I too sit closer to any warmth because my bones are older now.

Animals have instincts that are also ingrained in our DNA. The difference is they live it and we counter it thinking we know best.

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