So far, you’ve met Leo Chapo — who is fully recovered now, by the way, recovered enough to send regal greetings and thanks to his many human admirers who sent well-wishes and prayers.  But I have not been able to catch our other kitty on film.  Or at least not well.  He’s always blurred, or turned away from the camera, or moving so that all I catch is his little tail as he turns a corner.

It’s almost as if he’s as camera shy as his mommy.  Weird, huh?

Anyway, for a mysterious glimpse, here is Booty seen through a photograph of the one remaining ‘Black Beauty’ eggplant’s foliage, as I prepared to rip it out of the ground last week and found myself paralyzed and unable to follow through because of the sight of unopened flower buds.  (I am such a sucker for Beauty.)

Booty, of course, is an all-black cat, appropriate for this month of October, when our culture’s traditional superstitions are revived in stereotypical form, and I think he somehow knows this eggplant’s name, because he hung out a lot on this bit of the garden path this summer.  (As an experiment, I should plant ‘Black Beauty’ in a different spot next growing season.)

And yes, Booty is a strange name.  I’d give you the whole story, but it’s a bit complicated.  Suffice it to say that he was an unexpected addition to the household whom we’d long known as a stray in the neighborhood and nicknamed for his habit of rubbing his tail end against our screen door while wailing plaintively for Leo to look outside and make friends.  My sister officially christened him ‘Bootemius’ when we first took him to the vet because, as she says, everyone deserves some dignity, and the Latinate version looks less humiliating.

I don’t think you could humiliate Booty, though.  He is calm, affectionate, and always purring with contentment.  His fur, even after spending time outside, remains silky soft, and his beautiful green eyes radiate trust and love.  When he wants something, he will very clearly make it known and keep going for it until he gets it… but without getting aggressive or sneaky or manipulative like some other kitties I could name.

I sometimes imagine he’s a reincarnation of a Zen master.  He definitely has the joyful presence thing down pat.

He has a Buddha belly and is generally in no hurry to move his plump self anywhere — the exception being the time I was sitting on the front porch writing Morning Pages in my notebook and looked up to see a coyote crossing my driveway, heading into the woods beside the house.  Every single hair on the back of my neck rose as our eyes met over a distance of less than 20 yards.  I’d never seen anything so wild in my life.

About 20 seconds later, Booty shot out of the woods and ran to the front porch at a pace that astonished me, little legs churning underneath his plump body, Buddha belly swaying from side to side with the momentum of his run, and with every single hair on the line from neck to tail standing up straight in accord with my own.

He was still living exactly centered in the moment.  It’s just that this moment, unlike most of them, required him to RUN.

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