Buddha cat

I had a dream a few years ago about a cat. I was in a well lit room, a large room of blond wood walls and shiny wood floors and large windows that were screened with rice paper. There were people shuffling back and forth doing different things. It looked like they were busy preparing for some sort of celebration, some kind of ritual, and no one was talking and things were moved around. I was the only one standing and not doing anything. The entire place was hushed, all I could hear were the shuffling of feet.

In the middle of the room was a little platform covered with what looked like a white towel. On the towel sat a most beautiful cat. It was, I think, a golden tabby, with wise green eyes and a nice solid healthy body and a softly swishing tail. It was perfectly centered in that room on the platform. It just sat there, calm, cool, unaffected, as if it were used to all the flurry and it had been this way for a long time. Watching this cat, I felt a soothing sense of calm and that things were good. I didn't even need to touch it and stroke its fur, just looking at it did it for me.

Then it struck me. I wasn't expected to help in the preparations because it wasn't my job. My actual job was to be the custodian for this cat, be there for it. That cat was the cat of cats, I realized. It was the the incarnation of catness.

My mouth dropped, and the dream ended and I woke up.