Settle In to Be Unsettled

My neighbors the Wolfs--Mel and Carey--told me that Oreo had been killed on their front porch a few hours after they spotted a coyote in their yard.  There was a loud thump, they later saw footprints, and that was it.  Life can be quite short for roaming cats.  Mel has a brain tumor and is undergoing chemo which will be followed by radiation.  We are all vulnerable.  A gray cat that looks a lot like Oreo has been visiting us for several months but will not let me get near him.  I looked out the other day and he was on the porch looking quite distressed.  One eye was discolored and partially closed, he had some kind of mark on the side of his face, and something, perhaps thorns, were sticking out of his back.  He would not let me get near so I set up the humane trap.  Instead I got a raccoon and promptly let him out before he got too upset.  I caught a glimpse of a buzzard flying past my window and wondered if the gray cat had died.  I walked all around the woods but found nothing; however, I was stunned at the number of birds.  They were everywhere, it was so unusual.  I've never in all my years living out here seen nor heard so many birds all over the property.  It must be due to the rain, perhaps migration.  I caught a sniff of death, that putrid smell of rotting flesh, and knew that it couldn't be the gray cat, way too soon even if he did die, which I thought likely.  The whiff of death was strong, but I couldn't locate anything, and never again could I find the smell.  One fleeting sniff and that was it.  The wind must have blown just right.  There was nothing on the property, but I found the carcass on the other side of the fence, on the right of way leading to the vacant lot, close to the Wolfs house.  The buzzards had eaten most of the insides of the doe, going in through cavities and pulling out guts and organs, leaving the skin pretty much intact.  Standing there looking at her I still could smell nothing.  I'll never know what happened to her.  I saw the gray cat today and he was remarkably healed, certainly nowhere near death.  Extraordinary resilience.  His eye was normal, the thorns were gone, only the blood from the cut on his face was still visible.  If I can catch him in the trap, I will take him to the vet, but he's elusive. My dog Mikio is a breed most closely linked genetically to wolves, I've read.  Are my neighbors from an ancient tribe where the wolf was their fetish?   I took Mikio to see the doe carcass, which is now reduced to mostly bloody rib bones with tiny bits of flesh still hanging on.  A feast for bugs.  Cycles.  Death.  Dogs know death when they smell it, see it.  As we walked back to the house the wind was fierce, but not chilly.  It felt so good to be alive, healthy, taking in the vibrancy of life, breathing, feeling, knowing, smelling...I know a moment will come when all this that I know as life will no longer be.  It is unsettling to dwell upon for too long, but being unsettled has always been a place of learning.  Ginny the remarkable dog trainer came yesterday and we are making great progress in our training sessions with Mikio.  I love him, he is such a beautiful, calm, sweet animal.  Definitely independent, and the techniques use positive reinforcement, mostly, and nothing that ever in any way hurts the animal and tries to break his spirit.  It should never ever be a goal to break the spirit of any living thing.  Theresa came from the vet's office to give Blue Eyes his rabies shot because they forget to administer it when he was last in.  Traveling is traumatic for him and he defecates and urinates all over himself, the cage, and often me.  Theresa has a slew of orphaned, injured, and abused cats that she cares for and tries to find homes for.  People will drive down Hwy 290 and throw a cat out the window, she told me.  Very, very unsettling.   I love the wind, but it stirs up all the things my cat Pepe is seriously allergic to.  A new, second vial was recently created to add to the first vial to cover more allergens and I am happy to see that he is having quite a reaction because this means it is working.  I rub his self-inflicted wounds with Vetericyn, I give him 2 shots a week, and he requires methylprednisolone which upsets his tummy and gives him diarrhea.  So he has special diet and takes fortiflora nearly every day.  When he knows a shot or pill is coming, he runs and hides.  His sense of knowing all this is eerily keen.  I think that feeling unsettled is akin to the sense of groundlessness we must learn to accept as part of our lives.  Everything is in flux. "The fundamental ambiguity of being human" is with us daily, says Pema Chodron. 

"Living is a form of not being sure, not knowing what next or how.  The moment you know how, you begin to die a little.  The artist never entirely knows.  We guess.  We may be wrong, but we take leap after leap in the dark."  Agnes de Mille

"Life is like stepping into a boat that is about to sail out to sea and sink."  Shunryu Suzuki Roshi

So obviously we must learn to settle in to be unsettled.