My cats enjoy the initial traces of spring—eyes like saucers for bugs and birds, crows on gutter spouts, and seemingly precarious branches that bend towards the earth. They turn their noses to breezes and sunspots.
The cats teach me boredom in wandering thoughts of the unknown without expectations. I feel my heart slow to meet the pace of presence. I think about the movie Perfect Days, which I continue to think about weeks later. It’s the story of an older man who cleans toilets in Tokyo and leads a simple life of reading, listening to cassette tapes, daily routines, and taking pictures of tree canopies.
He has found his “ikigai,” meaning “reason to live.”