Wishing You’d Whiskered

This morning, I talk with my sister about whiskers. We note how long the whiskers are on each of our cats. We wonder how the whiskers know when to stop growing, why they are there in the first place, and how interesting it is to have whiskers.

Yes. This was an ordinary morning of living with flair.

The most curious thing I read about whiskers today (because of course, you can’t just start talking about whiskers without then knowing everything you can about them), is that they help a cat know if she will fit somewhere, or more specifically, if she’ll fit through some kind of opening. This explains why the mighty cat rarely gets stuck. The whiskers provide relevant data all the time. Whiskers give wisdom.

I wish I had whiskers to know, in advance, what would get me stuck and what kinds of doors I’d fit through beautifully and well. When I look at those whiskers on Louie Von Whiskers, I remember to seek out relevant data first—sending out the sensors through wise counsel and prayer before I throw myself head first into new spaces and new opportunities. I find that often I’m stuck with deadlines and commitments I just didn’t think through. I wish I had whiskered first.

I remember this as I meet with people who often need immediate answers and immediate decisions. It’s never as urgent as they characterize it. If someone can’t wait for you to whisker and demands your commitment or movement, you can be more like a cat: Cats move when they are ready and when they know they won’t be harmed.


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