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Miss Squeak grew up in a house of many cats, and all of them picked on her. When she first came to live with me, you could see the incredulity on her face: You mean I can just lay down anywhere, and nobody will try to jump me?

With such a background, Squeak didn't like to be held. That was OK with me; she was plenty affectionate in other ways.

Then, about a year and a half ago, as I was laying on my bed one day, reading—the sleep hygienists all say you shouldn't, I know—she hopped up on the bed and stretched out on my chest.

Here I am, she said, looking me in the eye.

And that was that. Since then, she's even taken to climbing up on my lap, the ultimate act of feline trust: Squeak, the cat that didn't like to be held.

On her last night, when I got home from work I found that she'd curled up on the pillow on my bed. Well, everyone has the right to die where they want to.

Although by that point moving was difficult for her, when I woke in the middle of the night I found that she had crawled under the covers and snugged up to me: the primal mammalian comfort of skin-to-skin contact that, in the end, is maybe the best giving that we have to offer one another.

So the cat that everyone picked on managed to find a territory of her own, and someone to snug up to. There are worse lives to be had.

A friend of mine insists that her dog is pagan.

Well, if one defines “pagan” as “following the thews (customs, life-ways, religion) of one's thede (= tribe, people),” I guess I could buy it. Witches (insofar as we follow anything) follow the Witch religion, dogs follow the Dog religion. I would imagine that the Dog religion is a pretty basic biological religion, with an ethical code strongly based on loyalty.

Rather like human paganism at its best, actually.

Then, of course, there's the Kitty-Cat religion. I'm certainly not privy to the inner mysteries here, but so far as I can tell, Cat religion is monotheistic.

There's one god, and it's Me.

Maybe that's where the Abrahamics got it from. This would fit with my theory that monotheism is essentially narcissism writ large.

I'm playing here, of course, but the question is a serious one: can animals—let me be specific and say non-human animals here—be said to have religion? The answer, of course, would depend on how one defines “religion.”

Just why John decided to name his cat Koomi, I don't know.

But when he and I started dating one summer, we soon had her figured out.

Imagine Theosophy's Helena Blavatsky as a brown tabby. That would be Koomi. Obese, indolent, with an endemic frown and piercing eyes that put you in your place. No one ever saw Koomi move. Judging from the food dish and the litter box she must have; then it occurred to us that this must actually have been evidence of teleportation instead.

For Koomi-cat was no mere kitty. Clearly, this was none other than Hoot Koomi, the feline mahatma. After centuries spent guiding the evolution of souls—Koot Hoomi, anyone?—she had clearly decided to take an incarnation off. This time around, Hoot Koomi was not going to do anything she didn't want to do.

In fact, she wasn't going to do anything.

Pictured here is the most recent addition to my spiritual souvenirs shrine. This is the story of how it appeared in my life and what it means to me.

Cats. To understand this story, one must know that among other things, Freya is a goddess of cats. Also, love and sex, and that is why the heart symbol is one of her symbols. She is also a goddess of war, but that's not relevant to this tale.

One week from today begins the long-anticipated eighth and final season of Game of Thrones. Meanwhile, back in Westeros...

Game of Claws

Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum

he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum

There's a kitty-cat,

so dumb and...

Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum

Inner-city cat,

so dumb and...

Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum

Name of Rudycat,

so dumb and...

Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum

Tootie-fruitie cat,

so dumb and...

Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum

Evil, stinky son of Binky,

so dumb and...

Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum

Brainless libido in a tuxedo,

so dumb and...

Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum, he's a Rudum

He's a Rude.

Tune: Game of Thrones Theme (Ramin Djawadi)

Photo: Paul B. Rucker

     I'm holding back the tears.  A warm humid air wets my face as we near the end of the session.  At that moment, I see two cats, one black, the other white, in front of me. They are curled on the floor in the shape of a heart.

     "These are your parents letting you know that they are healed," Luz, the facilitator, said.  I finally let my tears flow.

Bred from the more social African wildcat, the domestic cat has been a part of people’s lives since before the time of the ancient Egyptians. Remains of the domestic cats were found, on the island of Cyprus, dating from 8000 B.C.E. Unlike her elusive cat cousins, African Wildcat liked living close to towns and villages. The domestic cat, like her ancestor, is tamer and less secretive than most wildcats. She socializes with people, however like a true cat, only on her terms.

Living in a social hierarchy, the domestic cat forms close friendships. In her family group (kindle), the domestic cat sits with and nose-bumps her friends. By rubbing her body against other cats, She reinforces the bonds of her Kindle. (A cat that is rubbed the most is the highest-ranking cat.)