Serenity Meow

The cat I met at a meditation center

I met a cat at a meditation center recently and it was wonderful.

There’s always something delightful about encountering resident felines — cats who become staff members. I’ve met them at libraries and shops, pumpkin farms, inns and breweries— always padding around, graciously accepting pets, sometimes snoozing quietly in a patch of sunshine. Even people who don’t identify as “cat people” often can’t help but be charmed by these fuzzy ambassadors, their hospitality and professionalism.

I used to joke about wanting to come back as a cat in a library when I die and then I came across an article about an orange cat that lives at the family home of Sir Winston Churchill. When the family left the estate in Kent, called Chartwell, to the National Trust in 1966, they stipulated there “must always be a marmalade cat named Jock, with a white bib and four white paws in comfortable residence at Chartwell.” Jock VII, formerly a rescue named Sunshine, is the current cat on duty, assuming his post in 2020. The original Jock was apparently a birthday present to Churchill from one of his private secretaries, Sir John “Jock” Colville. 

You could write the facts I know off the top of my head about Winston Churchill on the head of a pin but I’m confident I’ll never forget this orange cat business. 

Anyway, to be a cat on a sprawling English estate seems like a pretty nice life.

We arrived at the meditation center in Olean, NY just ahead of a walk my husband was leading. 

“There’s a cat!” I said as we pulled in the driveway.

It was a quick glimpse, black fur on the move near the entrance. As we parked in the parking lot, I realized he had parked himself on the sidewalk in front of the building, hunched down, staring at us and I could tell he was meowing.

My parents always taught me to be careful around animals I don’t know and while I am, at least at first, I usually say hello and see how things go. I could tell this cat was well cared for.

“Look at his eyes,” I said.

They were more than green, they were turquoise — like the kind of blue you see in travel brochures for tropical destinations. They were trained right on me.

“Meow,” he said again, moving closer to the car, waiting for us to get out.

And so I did, “Hello! What’s your name?”

“Meow, meow,” he said, running over. 

He was beautiful — sleek black with long, stark white whiskers. He had longer hair which made his tail luxuriously plush. A thin line of white fur spread down his chest and peeked out on his toes, making it look like he was wearing fancy shoes.

I crouched down to greet him, but remained cautious about this new friend.

The meditation center sits on a beautiful piece of property perfect for anyone looking for a place to enjoy nature with ease. Its paths and ponds look like paintings come to life. 

“Let’s take a quick look around,” my husband said and so we set off toward the entrance to a trail.

Like a shot, the cat sprinted to take the lead, guiding us over a little bridge and down the paths — staying with us all the way — showing us around the property and not even seeming to mind the morning dew soaking the white fur on his feet.

Before long we heard other voices.

“Welcome!” One of the directors, named Celine, called down the path. “I see you’ve met Zig Zag!”

“Is that your name?” I said to the cat who was now running to greet his colleagues. 

“Is this your cat?” we asked.

“Well, yes.” She began, tentatively. “He kind of found us and now just lives here at the meditation center.”

Zig Zag stayed with us for a bit and then went on about his business as the walk participants started to arrive. 

I was thrilled to see him again when the walk began. He greeted each person making their way down the path and happily accepted pets during the opening centering exercise. He didn’t even mind that a big black dog named Dino had joined the group. Dino, for his part, didn’t mind Zig either. It was a perfectly serene afternoon.

Admittedly, I kept an eye out for Zig Zag, who lived up to his name — darting in and out of view throughout the afternoon. Eventually, he emerged from the fading goldenrod and, for the first time, we sat together — just enjoying the sunshine. I realized how long it had been and how much I had missed the company of a purring cat.

Ever the steward, he didn’t stay long, cutting off the cat nap to help guide the group back down the path.

We’re already making plans to go back.

And here he is

This essay originally appeared in my column in the October 10, 2024 edition of the Perry Herald in Perry, NY

For more information on the Olean Meditation Center. Click here.

For more on my husband, Chip Matthews, guided forest healing walks for mental wellness and stress relief. Click here.