Cat Tales: A Spiritual Journey

By Harvey Bevitz

“He’s crazy!”
“He’s definitely insane!”
“How many cats did you say he has? Did you say eighteen, all living inside his house? He really should see a doctor. There’s something wrong with him.”
“Does he know all their names? Did you really say eighteen? He’s a meshugeneh!”
Hi, my name is Harvey Bevitz, the author of the book you’re about to read. The above are just some of the comments made directly or indirectly to me during the past fourteen years, the years of the cat. I think I’m sane, but most insane people probably feel the same. So, I’ll let you make the determination.
I never had the privilege of being a cat’s companion until I was fortysix. Dogs were the pets of choice in my family. As a child, my association with cats was limited to the brief meetings by chance, at a friend’s house.
“There he goes again talking about them like they’re real, like they’re people. I told you he had a screw loose.”
As you may have noticed, I always reference myself as a cat’s companion, never as their owner, and I never refer to them as pets. They would be mortified to think of themselves as pets.
“There should be an intervention. Somebody should put him away.”
The truth of the matter and all cat companions know this, a cat is never owned. A cat allows the priceless pleasure of being their life’s companion.
The next two hundred or so pages give a glimpse into my life, a life that was turned upside down and over from that which existed before the entrance of the cat. Previous to my feline association, I had been referred to as a hurricane, blowing into lives, doing damage, and then blowing away. I never saw myself as a hurricane because it’s peaceful living inside the hurricane’s eye. The damage is always done to others.
Hurricane Harvey blew into Rita’s life at age forty-four. Two divorces were in the path of the storms past devastation. Rita brought a calm of all calms. The perfect storm had departed. The seas were still. The skies were magnificent in their blues. But, this was the perspective living life inside the eye of the monster. Our marriage ended after ten years leaving me depressed and the sole caretaker of six lovely felines. Rita brought me kicking and screaming into the world of the cat. Since I was remaining in the house, I got the “kids."
This story reveals how six cats became eighteen and how, in that process, a man found his soul. So sit back and enjoy because you’re going to meet The Mici, Micia, Pepper, Panda, Raffle, Junior, Wolfie, Mommy, Spunky, Groucho, Midnight, Mindy, Annie, Priscilla, Shadow, Emma, Gonzo, Draidle and more. SEE, I really do know all their names, and I’ve learned much more by living with my companions.
They have taught me the magic of friendship, love, being unstoppable, being courageous and much, much more. They have taught me lesson after lesson, the greatest of all being the absolute joy of living and participating in life. These gifts I now share with you.
“I don’t care if he knows all their names, I still think he’s a Looney Tune.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harvey Bevitz
• Release date: May 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476196701

Harvey Bevitz

Harvey Bevitz lives and writes out of the Philadelphia, Pennsylvania area. He is associated with the Philadelphia Kabbalah Center, Landmark Education and Stray Cat Blues.

Book preview

It has been said that it takes an entire village to raise a child. Well, a book takes the same care and nurturing. The following are but a few who have made it possible that the tales of Cat Tales could be told.

My mother and father, Ann and Manny Bevitz: Their love was my great legacy. It provided a secure base from which I had the confidence to try anything. If I failed, I merely tried again. I know this wonderful gift is the core of what I am. After my mother passed away, my father was fortunate to meet and marry a wonderful woman. As fate would have it, her name is also Ann. My mother would be happy that her Manny has warmth, love, and companionship to fill his senior years.

My daughter Debbie: She is my masterpiece. I will never create anything else so perfect.

My sisters Shelly and Arlene: They were and always will be there, a part of everything that I love and hold precious. Shelly has a wonderful daughter, Mindy and a charming son, Brian. Arlene was blessed with Erik and Elyce.

My friends of consciousness: Bob White, Warren Goldstein, Russ Faith, Barry Rosenberg, and Victoria Newton. Through word and deed, they were and always will be my inspiration.

Landmark Education: Allowed me to look deep within, to realize that failures in life only occur if one does not pursue their greatest dreams.

Kabbalah: The piece of the puzzle that makes everything else makes sense. That, which was missing, has been found, and in the process, so have I.

To All: To all of those who have been friend, lover, teacher, and tormentor, thank you. Thank you for the opportunity to learn, to grow, to become a little wiser, a lot more humble, and appreciative of all that life has to offer.

A Special Thank You: A special thank you to Lisa Rafter. I didn’t know what category to put Lisa in since she qualified for many of the above. She edited Cat Tales. This was no small fete, and in the doing gave great insights to philosophical direction. She is both friend and mentor.

To Tina Alinskas: Tina’s magnificent paintings of the kids, my spiritual guides, practically adorn each chapter of the book and were the magic elixir that helped ignite my imagination for the tales of Cat Tales.

Last and most: The kids, eighteen dynamic bodies of energy responsible for my transformation. We have become one.

INTRODUCTION

He’s crazy!

He’s definitely insane!

How many cats did you say he has? Did you say eighteen, all living inside his house? He really should see a doctor. There’s something wrong with him.

Does he know all their names? Did you really say eighteen? He’s a meshugeneh!

Hi, my name is Harvey Bevitz, the author of the book you’re about to read. The above are just some of the comments made directly or indirectly to me during the past fourteen years, the years of the cat. I think I’m sane, but most insane people probably feel the same. So, I’ll let you make the determination.

I never had the privilege of being a cat’s companion until I was forty-six. Dogs were the pets of choice in my family. As a child, my association with cats was limited to the brief meetings by chance at a friend’s house.

"There he goes again talking about them like they’re real, like they’re people.

I told you he had a screw loose."

As you may have noticed, I always reference myself as a cat’s companion, never as their owner and I never refer to them as pets. They would be mortified to think of themselves as pets.

There should be an intervention. Somebody should put him away.

The truth of the matter and all cat companions know this, a cat is never owned. A cat allows the priceless pleasure of being their life’s companion.

The next two hundred or so pages give a glimpse into my life, a life that was turned upside down and over from that which existed before the entrance of the cat. Previous to my feline association, I had been referred to as a hurricane, blowing into lives, doing damage, and then blowing away. I never saw myself as a hurricane because it’s peaceful living inside the hurricane’s eye. The damage is always done to others.

Hurricane Harvey blew into Rita’s life at age forty-four. Two divorces were in the path of the storms past devastation. Rita brought a calm of all calms. The perfect storm had departed. The seas were still. The skies were magnificent in their blues. But, this was the perspective living life inside the eye of the monster. Our marriage ended after ten years leaving me depressed and the sole caretaker of six lovely felines. Rita brought me kicking and screaming into the world of the cat. Since I was remaining in the house, I got the kids.

This story reveals how six cats became eighteen and how, in that process, a man found his soul. So sit back and enjoy because you’re going to meet The Mici, Micia, Pepper, Panda, Raffle, Junior, Wolfie, Mommy, Spunky, Groucho, Midnight, Mindy, Annie, Priscilla, Shadow, Emma, Gonzo, Draidle and more. SEE, I really do know all their names, and I’ve learned much more by living with my companions.

They have taught me the magic of friendship, love, being unstoppable, being courageous and much, much more. They have taught me lesson after lesson, the greatest of all being the absolute joy of living and participating in life. These gifts I now share with you.

I don’t care if he knows all their names, I still think he’s a Looney Tune.

Chapter I - A Tale of Micio

It's hard to conceive that I’ve been referred to as Catman, since I never had the pleasure of being a cat's companion until ten years ago. I probably never would have except that my now ex-wife brought home what would become the first of many that fateful day.

I was lying in my den on the sofa, clicker in hand, watching a football game that Saturday afternoon. In strode Rita, cat carrier, litter box, and kitten in tow.

I was never allowed to have a cat while growing up, she exclaimed. Now I have one, she blurted with her next gulp of air.

She placed the little four-legged ball of puffed black fur on the ground. I exclaimed at the indignity of ruining my football concentration, Oh no, you bought a cat.

Yes, I bought a cat. He's mine and I'm going to love him. She stated in a defiant tone, eyebrows firmly knitted creating a crease on her forehead above the bridge of her nose. Her vocal stream of consciousness came to a halt as her beloved new friend walked over to the couch, jumped onto my chest and fell asleep. Rita's jaw dropped in amazement as my hand responded with tender kitten pats.

Barry White said it best in his great song My First, My Last, My Everything. That describes Micio. I had no idea how much of an impact two pounds of curiosity and boundless energy would have upon my life, first things first. He needed a name, a name that captured his essence. What would we name this little guy who had an extraordinary attentive face that never stopped eating? He had a pointed little tail that never stopped wagging, and in between, four little projectiles stood out, two on each side. I believe they are called feet and legs. I really couldn't tell because they were always moving too fast for observation. Anyway, back to the naming process.

Since his human mother is Italian and I was informed from the outset that having a kitten was her life's wish, Rita assumed the major responsibility for the naming. I made suggestions but Hey you and Dinner Time were quickly dismissed. Rita named him Micio, which means kitten in Italian.

When we romped on the floor in the den, and he attacked my flailing arms and legs, he became Miciozosaurus Rex, a wild carnivorous monster that formerly roamed the earth.

Chasing me in that measured staccato prance orchestrated by his four small, stubby legs, he became Miciozoid a robotic creature of the future.

In all his identities, past, present, and future, he firmly secured a place in my life, a life which would never be quite the same. Let me offer a few examples.

I wish I could sleep through the night without the necessity of visiting the bathroom, but I can't. Micio made my going to the bathroom an adventure. Before Micio joined our family I'd stagger to the commode, my mind firmly caged in sleep as my body ached for relief. Finished, I'd throw myself back to its horizontal coma. This all changed with the arrival of Micio.

One evening, I staggered into the bathroom unaware that Micio fell in behind. At a very inappropriate moment, Micio sank his needle like teeth into my ankle resulting in a pop art decoration across a bathroom wall.

Reading a newspaper while sitting at the kitchen table seemed to irritate Micio. He'd throw himself on top of the open pages stretching himself to his maximum length, while at the same instant staring at me with a look that seemed to say, Why look at the newspaper when you can look at me?

Micio did away with the need for an alarm clock. Now, I never oversleep. At exactly five o'clock each morning a mournful wail cuts through my peaceful slumber. It's the Mici's (his shortened nickname) breakfast time. He must have some rooster in him as he crows at the approaching sun driving me crazy. I've tried to ignore him. It's impossible. If I didn't pay attention to the wailing he'd jump onto the nightstand beside my bed and beat the lampshade to the rhythm of a boxer beating on a punching bag. Bop-bop-bah-bop the shade staggered from side to side under the relentless pounding from the Mici's head. If this failed to fling me from my bed, he’d resort to his final torture. He created a noise that grated on my ears as finger nails scratching on a black board. If you haven't had the distinction of listening to a cat chewing on cable wires, believe me, you don't want to. Micio knew that if the first two methods failed, chewing the cable wires would levitate me from the bed.

Micio loves to play Hide and Seek. One silly day (days in which I act silly and thank God, they have increased since I became a cat's companion), I was pretending Mici was a huge black panther chasing me through the jungle. I ran screaming in mock fear from the family room to the adjoining kitchen. Micio was just a few paw strides behind me. I hid behind a kitchen door and peeked out into Micio's happy face. I questioned, Can he play hide and seek? Hmm, I'm going to find out. I ran into the dining room and hid behind an arch. Micio pursued at full burst coming to a screeching halt in the dining room searching for me. He looked behind the arch and let out a delighted meow with the discovery of my secret hiding spot. Again and again I hid and each time Micio found me to his delight as well as to mine.

Months swiftly passed and Micio matured into a magnificent twenty pound feline with a luxurious black coat, long black whiskers, and large, luminous aqua eyes, rimmed in royal blue that surrounded walnut sized black pupils.

Micio always followed me in a pigeon-toed manner as I made my way through the house. He reminded me of a feline John Wayne always a few steps behind me ambling in that Mician gait, while carrying on an endless conversation in some dialect of Cattenese. The dialogue would change in tone and inflection with an occasional bite on the ankles to drive home a point.

Micio cannot jump. He can only manage leaps of limited height for which the female members of the pride rejoice, as they spring to levels of escape and terror fills their eyes, when Micio forgets he's fixed and tries to play the role of Don Juan!

Micio gives me an acknowledgment; a trusting acceptance reserved for a privileged few. There is a universal greeting of friendship cats large, small, domestic, and wild have in common, which is a greeting of rubbing heads.

Once, while we were playing, I remember Mici lowering his head and rubbing it against mine. I didn't pay much attention at the time because we were involved in a whole series of play, but I noticed from that point he started to do it on a regular basis. He is the only member of the pride who initiates a head rub with me.

Micio is the only member of the clan purchased from a pet store. He is also the only one not afraid of the noise emanating from a vacuum cleaner. Let me explain.

To kitten Mici (he didn't know his name was Mici at that time, so I should refer to him as the kitten that would be known as Mici) evenings were a time to frolic. The pet shop, where he spent his days confined to a small cage, became an evening’s amusement park. At night, the cleaning crew would arrive with their vacuums, mops, brooms, and dust pans. The crew chief was very fond of the kitten to be known as Mici. He always removed Mici from his cage and greeted him with a big kiss. How's my little buddy tonight? He'd ask Mici as he placed him on the floor letting him scamper after the cleaning crew as they set about their work. It was rumored a bag of cat treats would be opened and a little black puff of fur would do all sorts of contortions chasing thrown goodies! These are the stories as told to Rita by the store's employees.

Rita noticed that Micio was oblivious to loud noises occurring in the store and that's when the stories were related. To this day Micio is the only one of the pride that does not run from the sound of the vacuum cleaner. He just lies there purring, probably remembering the happy days of his youth.

All my experiences with Micio have not been positive. He introduced me to the process of coughing up a fur ball. I remember the first time I heard the hacking sound. I thought, Oh my God, what is happening? I ran into the den just in time to watch the Mici put me into a Deja Vu experience. As his body was writhing, trying to cough up a fur ball, it brought back a time when I was an eighteen-year-old freshman at Temple University in Philadelphia. I had just exited a fraternity party on a chilled October, Saturday evening, after guzzling twelve beers in less than an hour. I deposited those twelve beers, along with a couple slices of pepperoni pizza, nugget pretzels, and ripple potato chips on the black asphalt of North Broad Street. I can still recall the taste after all those years.

UHHH! Mici, I know what you're going through, buddy. My reassurance didn't seem to console him as his back arched for emphasis and the black, wet wad of fur was finally deposited on the rose colored carpet. Yich, it gets worse!

I learned to differentiate the sound of Mici gagging, coughing up a fur ball and the gagging sound of (sorry, no eloquent way to say this) Mici throwing up his guts. Let me explain how I gained this great insight. Late one evening as I was staggering into the bathroom from bed, I heard Mici occupied in his gagging routine. It sounded a little different than usual. It sure was. My bare feet squashed into the remnants of Micio's dinner. It's a feeling hard to describe, yet very familiar to anyone who has had a similar experience. My face contorted as the message shot from my curling toes to my shocked brain, UWWWW! I cleaned my feet, and the carpet. That particular type of gag is now printed indelibly upon my mind. Now, if I have to navigate the darkened boundaries of my room after I hear the writhing sound emanating from a room filled with seventeen cats, I--step--gingerly.

It was delightful having the Mici. He began the days scampering across our bed whimpering for his breakfast. He ended the day in our bed burrowed between us with our arms wrapped around him as he fell asleep. He found his home and we were delighted to have this animated, loving bundle of joy in our lives.

The Teachings of Micio

Many years would pass before I’d realize the life lessons taught through the examples of my eighteen cats, my spiritual guides.

In the beginning, they were just pets. They were there to be loved and enjoyed, but the deeper aspects of their existence could not be appreciated by a consciousness that was not sufficiently raised to understand their guidance.

Micio was the first, my son, my son. He secured a place inside my life and introduced me to the world of the feline.

Micio taught me that cats are anything but aloof. He is my constant companion during my daily tasks, following me from room to room throughout the house.

He is by my side as I empty trashcans making sure all the debris is thoroughly transferred into black plastic trash bags. His ears perk and his eyes expand in size as I explore the shelves and drawers of the refrigerator in preparation of lunch. He lays beside me in peaceful repose as I perch upon my swivel chair in my home office during working hours. At night, he sleeps on my bed and does not fully relax until his back touches mine. This allows both of us to fall into a peaceful sleep.

I am Micio’s companion. He has given me his unwavering commitment. There are no conditions. There is nothing to be constantly substantiated, refined, upheld, or proven. There’s love, trust, and understanding.

He has taught me that no matter how busy I am there is nothing more important than those that I love. No time better spent than being surrounded by the sounds, sights, and touches of friends and family. I will never ignore this lesson.

He gave me the gift of possibility. He came into a life that was ordered in a certain manner and taught that change can be exciting, the unknown illuminating. He was to be the first of my guides. He prepared the path for those that would follow. He is my Spiritual Guide to FRIENDSHIP and POSSIBILITY.

What I’ve Learned through the Teachings of Micio

Nothing is more important than those that fill my life, but it is quite human to become preoccupied by the daily demands of life, to confuse the constant barrage of life’s peccadilloes with life itself. It’s not. As soon as one problem has been satisfied another will arise. This can be guaranteed. The constant, the invariable fixed North Star of my being are the bearers of meaning, joy, and purpose.

Sometimes they are called friend or family. Sometimes they may be a teacher. Sometimes they inspire through the words that they write, music they compose, ideas that they inflame.

The people that walk, stroll, jog, or run through my existence are my life’s gold, to be enjoyed like sipping an aged wine.

Concerns will always be present, challenges replete will call to turn attention, but never will they again compete with a smile from my daughter, a conversation with my father, or a kiss with which I say good night!

I share conversations with my father, daughter, and sister at least once a week. I make sure that these are complete. Occasionally a subject is breached that’s tender to one or to both of us. Usually it’s not what’s discussed, but rather how it’s discussed that may cause displeasure. No matter how diplomatic my intentions, the conversation is sometimes strained, or uncomfortable. During earlier periods of my life, I would simply have sat on the frustration, wondering what caused the misunderstanding. I would have wondered how people that loved each other deeply could allow the tone of a conversation to change from open to guarded, from fully expressed to curt, and even sometimes to snippy. The process has changed.

During the year of 1999, I was introduced to a transformed way of thinking. Ensuing chapters will go into greater detail about the process and the organization that made it possible. For now, please allow me to illustrate a transformed way of being in regards to the above.

Now, undigested bits of words, unconsumed thoughts, dangling feelings are not allowed to linger unabsorbed, hanging in the atmosphere. Uncompleted conversations are followed by an immediate attempt at clarification, an apology if needed, and always, always, always an acknowledgement of how important that person is to my life.

This way of being may have been structured in a laboratory of transformation, but my little spiritual guides introduced it. They taught me by example that I and I alone am the keeper to the fulfillment of my destiny. I can decide to remain fixed, unbending, unyielding, brittle to the needs of others and myself, or to choose the form and shape of life’s container.

Whether the void is a puddle or an abyss, a channel or an ocean, may I always seek to reach the top of every bank and touch the sands of each golden beach. Possibility lies within the reach of my extended hand. It will always be MY choice.

Thank you, dear Micio, my four legged instructor and many thanks to my upright standing, two legged teachers for their patience in the instruction of this human being.

WORKBOOK

Chapter 1

MICIO

The Teachings of Friendship and Possibility

Friendship:

According to definition a friend is one for whom there is affection and trust, one you can depend on.

This is how friendship appeared to philosophers, poets, writers, great thinkers, and others through the ages:

"A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature."

Ralph Waldo Emerson-Poet

"Sometimes our light goes out but is blown into flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this light."

Albert Schweitzer-Philosopher

"I do not want a friend who smiles when I smile, who weeps when I weep. For my shadow in the pool can do better than that."

Confucius-Philosopher

"A friend is a gift you give yourself"

Robert Louis Stevenson-Author

"Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies"

Aristotle-Philosopher

I love what Emerson said about friendship. I have been blessed to also have had masterpieces of nature grace my life, how about you? As Albert Schweitzer expressed, I also have had my life’s flickering light blown into flame by friendship’s breath, how about you? Confucius wants responsible friendship, a friend who will give council and order. I agree with Confucius. I want my relationships to have depth and my friends the confidence in our friendship that they can speak about my possible mistakes, as well as laughing with me in times of joy. Yes, Mr. Stevenson, A friendship is a gift you give yourself.

Micio gave me his unwavering friendship. There were no conditions, nothing to be constantly substantiated, refined, upheld, or proven. There was just trust and understanding. He also taught me there’s nothing more important, no time better spent than the time being surrounded by friends and family.

Homework:

Call a friend you haven’t spoken to for a while. If there was a misunderstanding, don’t let ego, pride, or a needed apology stand in the way.

Get in touch with that great friend from college, the military, etc., of whom you lost track. I’ll bet they’ll be excited that you called.

MOST IMPORTANT: Call all your friends. Acknowledge how important they are, how they are the treasures of your life and enrich the person that you are.

POSSIBILITY:

*We construct our realities and then forget that we were the ones who constructed them. As a result it can be seen that it is not necessary to be confined to living within this limited range. This new view or POSSIBILITY has an immediate and powerful impact on who we are, how we live our lives, and how we see things-now, in the present. It has the power to move, touch, and inspire us; to shape our actions; and to shift the way we are being right now.

*The above is the definition of possibility from the Landmark Forum Syllabus, Landmark Education. Landmark Education can be contacted at: www.landmarkeducation.com

This is how possibility appeared to philosophers, poets, writers, great thinkers, and others through the ages:

"I’m more than what I was, but less than what I can become."

Harry Toback- Grandfather

"We all have possibilities we don’t know about. We can do things we don’t even dream we can do."

Dale Carnegie – author

"A thought, even a possibility, can shatter and transform us."

Friedrich Nietzsche – philosopher

"Each of us has that right, that possibility, to invent ourselves daily. If a person does not invent herself, she will be invented. So, to be bodacious enough to invent ourselves is wise."

Maya Angelou – author

"Just because things are, it doesn’t mean that it has to always be that way. Hi, it’s the Mici again. The teachers at Landmark Education call the process transcending."

Mici- transformed cat

"Understand that the right to choose your own path is a sacred privilege. Use it. Dwell in possibility."

Oprah Winfrey – television personality

"Anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve."

Joanne Kathleen Rowling – author

Angelou says that if you don’t invent yourself someone else will give a definition to who you are. Oprah declares that the right to choose your own path is a sacred privilege. I agree with Oprah as did the framers of our Declaration of Independence. J.K. Rowling said, Anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.

She should know, she created Harry Potter while homeless and impoverished. I’m more than what I was, but less than what I can become, is the essence of possibility, the soul’s opportunity to transcend any and all limitations.

Micio gave me the gift of possibility. He came into a life that was ordered in a certain manner and taught that change can be exciting, the unknown illuminating. I was taught that I and I alone am the keeper to the fulfillment of my destiny. I decide to remain fixed, unbending, unyielding, or the possibility of transformation. Possibility lies within the reach of my extended hand. It will always be my choice. For this knowledge I give my love and my thanks to my little spiritual guide Micio, my Spiritual Guide to Possibility.

Homework:

Look deep within yourself. What is it that makes you unique as a snowflake? What is your special gift from the universe?

Let me take this over. After-all I taught YOU about possibility.

Ok Mici, it’s all yours.

Hi everybody, I’m the Mici of possibility. Harvey started your journey of exploration by asking you to look deep within yourself. Do you know what you’re looking for? It’s the thing you like doing best. It’s the one thing that always brings a smile to your face that gives you fulfillment, which comes to you as easy as breathing. You’ve probably said at one time, if only I could earn money doing this." Your homework assignment is to discover your unique gift and to expand upon it. Construct how you can incorporate your gift into your presently structured life.