Meet Flo

Flo is neither man nor woman but I use the feminine pronoun with her. I notice that I notice her when I’m walking on the beach, or planting in my garden, or sautéing vegetables, or meditating, or patting Cleo the cat, or gazing upon my sleeping child and husband, or looking at the sunset. I’m not sure where she’s at when I’m grocery shopping or getting a parking ticket or trying to decide where to put the new cantilever umbrella. Intellectually, I know she’s around, I just lose track of her.

Like when Cleo the cat finds a shelf inside the closet to curl up on, hidden behind a pile of soft sweaters. She’s available, but she’s not like, meowing at my feet or purring on my lap. I gotta make space for her if I want kitty love.

Cleo’s always up for lap time, but I have to make the lap. If I’m sitting quietly she seems to magically sense it pretty quickly and come over. If I cover my lap with that one blanket that got weirdly fuzzy in the dryer she’s really stoked and will kneed and purr for a really long time.

I wonder if some people feel cat-purring-on-lap content while they’re going through the day? I mean people who aren’t like, monks living in towers up on a hill. People like me just trying to put together low glycemic index organic snacks while keeping their kids alive. People like me who know that technically they are not completely repulsive physically but cringe when they look in the mirror because of the extra inch around the middle or the extra line on the face or just because. People who worry about big things and then avoid big things and find themselves worrying about small things. I am going to try to be those some people. Try more. I’ll let you know how it goes.