A gratitude meditation — on kitty litter

Original Medium Post HERE

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Could scooping (real or metaphorical) be the most important thing we do today?

My wife Vanessa with our cat Lucy. They are not on the basement rug near the litterbox.

Each evening after dinner, we resolve our children’s debate about which child mommy will put to bed. I put the losing child to bed, then head downstairs to prepare my chocolate breakfast and lunch sandwich for the next day, while listening to a podcast on 1.5x.

With the podcast continuing, phone in my pocket, I gingerly turn the somehow always loose glass knob to open our basement door without the knob falling out. I duck to clear the ceiling as I turn down our wooden basement stairs.

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My son or wife often have fed our two cats. If they have not, I pick dried wet food off the floor and out of the rug, and throw those crumbs into the same trough sink where I scrub the cats’ bowls before empting new cans of food into them.

Diagonally across the room, I lift the litterbox lid, revealing the litter pushed right against one edge of the box. I try to minimize any spillover from that edge as I lift the broken top of our trashcan and carefully place scooped litter clumps in the trash bag. One last slightly disgusting task on the checklist before trying (and often failing) to get to bed early enough to get enough sleep.

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Gratitude for scooping?

One night last week, I didn’t want to listen to another podcast. I was more aware and focused as I sifted through the litter.

I looked at Lucy Sky Diamonds: our Black cat, eating her wet food. I looked up to the dryer where Penny Lane, our Calico cat, nestled into her cat bed.

I suddenly felt unexpected gratitude for this opportunity to care for these two family members.

I became more mindful of the now-transformed act of scooping. Gratitude rippled out.

Vanessa brought these cats into our lives. I was grateful for this small opportunity to support Vanessa, just as she supports the cats, our children and me.

These were Vanessa’s beloved Aunt Maureen’s cats. Vanessa had helped pick them and name them. Some of Aunt Maur’s last quiet words to Vanessa were “take care of my girls.” Lucy and Penny connect Vanessa, and all of us, back to Aunt Maur. I was grateful for that connection.

As I scoop, I think about environmental and health impacts of kitty litter. I have explored brands that might be better. We haven’t settled on a winner, but as I scooped from the wood-based litter, I felt gratitude too for the opportunity to try to do better for our planet and ourselves.

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Scooping up trust?

The cats always hid from Aunt Maur’s visitors. After the drive from New Jersey to Massachusetts, they eluded us too: hiding under the stairs and in the rafters in our ceiling, making loose insulation shower down onto the back of the washer and dryer.

But after some months, Lucy stood under the sink and looked at me inquisitively. She ran if I came close.

Then she stayed and let me extend my hand, and brushed herself against it. Now, she blocks my way down the stairs and calls out, waiting for a pet and dinner.

Penny was slower; we barely saw her eyes looking down from the rafters. But finally, she came down into her bed. More recently, she didn’t jump out when I came into the basement. Now she too lets me reach out my hand.

Did seeing me scoop each day help build trust? They stick around for Vanessa and the kids too, so I am not claiming solo credit, but could scooping have helped?

More gratitude.

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The metaphorical litter box

Being present for scooping makes me think of the many people who go above and beyond in their jobs. Transit drivers who warmly welcome us onto the bus or make jokes over the train PA, building receptionists whose warm welcome betters our day, administrative partners who help us through paperwork rather than leaving us to get through it alone.

Gratitude and a sense of purpose transforms daily work and tasks — and the impact they have.

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It can transform parenting too. When my son attempts to negotiate, for the umpteenth time in a day, about another requested purchase of a Lego or Halloween item, I want more often, to recognize he is doing exactly what he should be doing.

Is his developmental need to negotiate so different from the cats’ need to use the litter box? We trained our previous cat to use the toilet; if he should negotiate less, we can teach him too.

However, for now, in this moment, we are all doing the best we can with what we have and what we know. Knowing that, I can be present and transform my reactions to my children. I can transform my reaction to myself too, understanding when I did not respond the way I wanted to, I still was doing my best.

By bringing this broader gratitude and recognition, and recognizing this moment of negotiation could be brief and precious, I can do more. I can do better. That can help my son do better too.

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The joy of scooping

I haven’t figured it all out. I am not present nearly enough. I rush too much. But I will keep trying to bring this mindful approach, to do better and be better.

For this week, as we all scoop the proverbial (or real) litter in our lives and interactions with each other, how can we find more gratitude and transform the scooping?

Could scooping the litter (again) be the most important thing you do today?

Stay joyful, East Boston.

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