Regarding Rihanna: the regimen is rebirths.
Plural.
Of all the cats in all the solariums, no one takes sunbathing as seriously as Rihanna.
She becomes one with warmth. She occupies every square inch of her swirls. The breeze strums her stripes, and she knows its lyrics.
If you catch her eyes, they will grab you by the sleeve. Test me on this. Even if she was eighty percent asleep (for no cat, despite appearances, is ever fully unconscious), Ri-Ri will rouse herself at the sound of your sneakers.
She will fix her gaze on you. Her eyes are improbably green, like an old movie colorized with new colors.
But Rihanna wants you to remember more important things than the incidentals of appearance.
Rihanna wants you to remember that you are here.
Meet her eyes where they are, in the sun-wonderful “now,” and you will remember.
If you are lucky, Rihanna will coax you to the floor, where most of the best things happen. This is prime location for rubbing her belly, like a giant good-luck golden raisin. Soon, you’ll feel shoulders un-scrunch for the first time all week.
You may remember astonishing things: the sun is warm, and you can occupy all your swirls, too.
Rihanna may loll like eggplant rollatini for your amusement, or she may sit up and lean into you, in a graceful posture somewhere between “Botticelli painting” and “Homer Simpson after four donuts.”
The next thing you know, you are laughing, and everyone knows that is when the rebirths start.
Rihanna knows.
Rihanna was born for the first time nine years ago. It is a long way from war-torn Beirut to rural New Jersey, but the same sun strokes all stripes.
The first rebirth was nothing more than recognition, which is nothing less than everything. A person made of mercy saw Rihanna and diagnosed a diamond.
The nameless stray was not a shadow in the sand. She was a light this Earth had never seen before and would not see again. Recognition leads to reverence and rescue. Recognition is where two gazes meet, the healer and the helpless.
Recognition is how ordinary eyes become the sun.
Seen and saved, Rihanna was reborn again at thirty thousand feet. On any continent, feline immunodeficiency virus (FIV) and gastrointestinal issues render a diamond “less adoptable.” But those, too, are incidental details.
There is a big, fat, funny ball of light called Tabby’s Place, and we are bonkers for cats who are out of this world and out of time.
Rihanna’s next resurrection was all about rejoicing. She looked around to find the explanation for all this jubilation, and all she found was herself.
When you realize you are the source of someone’s joy, you always find yourself.
But Rihanna is an ample cat. Her belly is big enough for many laughs. She is only nine years old, which means there are throngs of days she has never seen before. She intends to see them all.
She widens those Granny Smith eyes. She will not understand everything she sees. She cannot keep her life from changing, but she will not look away.
Her soul-friend Fergie leaves for all the right reasons, going into Forever Foster with Karina, who is composed entirely of sun. Rihanna sees the empty space where Fergie once dreamed beside her. But she also sees the extra hands now free to pet her, the empaths and angels who come to comfort her without needing to be asked.
Rihanna sees the thunderstorms that scowl outside her solarium, bullying less-serious sunbathers indoors. She also sees the rainbows that redeem the sky for light.
Rihanna will not miss the restarts inside the endings.
The best rebirths have yet to surprise her. Her part is just to remember that she is here.
She will do all she can to remind you, too.