For as long as I can remember, I've had cats. Each one special and unforgettable in their own way, but one stands out above the rest: Yang. Yang came to me with her sister Yin as runts of a litter. While their siblings were all part Persian and black, both of them were short hairs.
Yang was a beautiful calico and Yin was a grey tabby stripe. Yang was the alpha kitty of the two, and her sister Yin was very shy, quiet, and at times almost invisible. Yang was the flip of that. She was vocal, very playful, and curious about everything.
When I moved from Atlanta to the mountains of North Carolina, I would let them both out on the deck with a kitty gate at one side to prevent them from going further. That lasted about 6 months until Yang figured out all she had to do was hop on a chair, jump to the top of the deck railing and race around to freedom in the garden and woods beyond.
It scared me the first few times, but she always came back so I got used to it and didn't try to stop her, though I knew there were bears, coyotes, and even a mountain lion in the area.
One evening after dark, I heard a noise and opened the front door to find Yang, puffed up to three times her normal petite size, four feet away on my left, facing off with a baby bear who was three feet away on my right.
She smartly, made a beeline for the doorway and leapt to safety, I shut it quickly remembering that no matter how cute the bear might appear, they aren't to be messed with. Curiosity didn't kill Yang, just old age. Our animals give us priceless lessons in how to live engaged, tuned in, turned on, and connected every day. What have you stopped being curious about?
