Like sunshine on your shoulders, you feel it before you see it.
Some great light is smiling upon you.
It’s too strong to control. It’s too powerful to predict. It’s too wonderful to describe.
It’s a cat with cheeks big enough to fit two moons.
Turn around, and you’ll see why you feel so warm. Bernard is beaming at you.
This is a greater honor than an Academy Award, a MacArthur Genius Grant, or finding a random onion ring in your French fries.
Your benefactor is solar power in feline form, with a smile that could get you through an electrical outage. Bernard came to Tabby’s Place from outdoors, but he feels no nostalgia for the campsite.
Adventure loses its flavor when you are always hungry.
But there is power in the predictable.
Indoor life has rituals and routines, and also canned beef. Since Bernard is a genius, he is astounded by the ordinary. Morning by morning, sunbeams report to his solarium. At precisely 4:00 pm, gentle, glowy people deliver French-fry trays of meat product directly to Bernard’s face.
When all goes to plan, the cats stay in their constellations, making silent agreements: I will stay in the top left cubby, and you can have the bottom right. I waive my right to groom you, even though you will look handsomer if I do. I will graciously permit you to live.
At its best, life unfurls like a Psalter Bernard knows by heart. There are no surprises, and the exclamation points are all edible. Thrills are at a minimum, which leaves more storage space for fleece blankets.
Bernard’s research conclusively shows: there is nothing so cool as “cozy.”
Just remember that every crackling fire reserves the right to be wild. This is not a controlled Bern.
If there’s one thing that gets Bernard excited, it’s unnecessary excitement. It may be as innocent as Winona playing the classic family game of “Heartfelt Bonding That Only Looks Like Hand-to-Hand Combat, Really, We’re Both OK, Really.”
It may be as inflammatory as delays in the dinner cart.
It may only be visible to Bernard, like that time three space wombats landed on Mars, so Bernard had to bite a staff member to recalibrate the universe.
(Never argue with a genius.)
All that matters is that everything returns to “ordinary” as swiftly as possible.
Once the world makes sense again, Bernard’s lynx ears will soften, those dreamy hazel eyes will mellow like maple syrup, and (if you’re fortunate), he will glow any gloom straight out of your day.
Just keep things cozy, or Bernard may have to eat the moon.
Update: Bernard has something better than the moon: a forever home. Miracles happen on the most ordinary days.