It was surprising to even myself when I found that the person who inspires me the most, isn’t a person at all. She’s a cat. A pudgy, middle aged cat called Minnow who makes me want to try a little bit harder in life, even if it comes from the most unexpected places.

For one thing, her laziness has made her oddly intelligent. She looks for any way to make her life just a bit easier, no matter the situation.

When my mother and I first brought home a laser pointer for a laugh, Minnow obligingly scampered after it, her feet making adorable squeaky sounds on the hardwood floors. But the second time, she followed it with her eyes for a moment before looking up at the pointer skeptically, as if she were saying “Really? Again?” Now that she’s figured out the secret of the little red light, Minnow rarely gets up when we try to get her to play with it.
I think this ability to look beyond what is right in front of her, in this case the laser beam, is truly admirable. Sometimes, when in the thick of of a problem, it’s hard to see the most efficient way around a difficulty. It becomes easy to go in complex loops in an attempt to think on a deeper level, while really going nowhere.

Minnow was able to decide that she didn’t want to go on a wild goose chase after something she could never catch, and to figure out where the source of the light was without any unnecessary sprinting. A lot of humans I know would never be able to do this, and I can see this as an incredibly useful quality during exams or during a difficult situation at work, so that I could see into the heart of the problem without any unnecessary energy being wasted.
I’m also envious of Minnow’s seemingly endless patience. When stalking a house spider in the corner of the kitchen, she can remain perfectly still for what seems like hours on end until she has an opportunity to strike. If the little, or sometimes horrifically large, arachnid crawls up the wall, she will sit for however long it takes. She never gives up, and yet many people have a hard time sitting still for fifteen minutes.

When I look after my young cousins or my elderly, and very set-in-her-ways grandmother, I try to think of them as Minnow thinks of flies on the walls, needing only a little patience and perseverance to handle. Of course it gets a little difficult to keep my cool when my seven year old cousin strews my underwear throughout the house, to be found months later, but remembering how my little kitty can sit and wait certainly helps.

My cat is also more brave than anyone I know. She lives in a relatively small apartment with three humans twenty times her size, who often vacuum the floors. Neighborhood cats snarl at her through the sliding glass door. My overly enthusiastic friends grab her ears and tail in an overflow of affection brought on by her cuteness. Despite all this, she’s able to come out from under the bed at the end of the day and eat her kibble like any other cat.

In her world, everything must present some unknown danger, yet the small kitty is able to face her fears, green eyes flashing proudly. I’m scared of a lot of things, too, but none of them are potentially life threatening in my eyes like they are in her’s. Sometimes before a violin concert or a swim meet, I try to remind myself of my little cat’s courage.

Of course I admire many characteristics in other people, but my cat displays such fundamental qualities that can inspire me to go above and beyond that I can’t help but wish that I was more like her.

I think we could all benefit from being a bit more catlike.