Cassie, the Living Ceiling of Mindfulness

Some mornings, Cassie stretches out on her back, paws in the air, belly exposed to the world like an open invitation to let go. She doesn’t know she’s meditating, of course. She doesn’t know she embodies the very essence of mindfulness: simply being here. No judgment, no “shoulds,” just the weight of her body against the floor, the sun sliding over her fur, and that purr—like an ancient mantra, hummed by cats for centuries.

I watch her often, especially on days when my thoughts tangle like a ball of yarn. Cassie doesn’t need complicated techniques. She breathes. She is. And that’s all. She taught me that mindfulness isn’t a performance; it’s a presence. Not a goal to achieve, but a state to return to—the one we all had as children, before we believed we had to earn the right to exist.

Mindfulness Is as Simple as a Purr

One day, as I was about to record a sophrology session, Cassie decided to settle right next to the microphone. I hesitated to move her, then let it be. Her purring wove itself between my words, like a gentle punctuation. Listening back later, I realized it was the best session I’d ever recorded. Not because I’d controlled everything, but because I’d finally let go. The feedback was unanimous: “We can hear your cat—it’s soothing.” As if, without meaning to, she’d reminded everyone that life doesn’t need to be perfect to be beautiful.

Cassie doesn’t know what mindfulness is, but she practices it every moment. When she stares at a sunbeam for ten minutes, motionless, she’s meditating. When she falls asleep on my keyboard, she reminds me that work can wait. And when she looks at me with her half-closed eyes, as if seeing straight into my soul, I remember: authenticity has nothing to do with what we show and everything to do with what we are.

The Living Ceiling

I sometimes call Cassie “my living ceiling.” She has this way of sprawling across rooms, taking up space without a second thought, as if every surface belongs to her. At first, I found it funny. Then I understood: she never questions her right to exist. She just does.

We humans spend our time apologizing for taking up space. “Am I bothering you?” “Is this good enough?” “What if I make a mistake?” Cassie doesn’t ask these questions. She falls off the couch? She gets back up. She knocks over a vase? She moves on. No guilt, no regret—just the certainty that every moment is a fresh start.

An old text—one of those I love—says, “Wisdom begins when we stop struggling against what is.” Cassie understood this without ever reading it. She taught me that acceptance isn’t giving up; it’s stopping the waste of energy on wishing life were different.

Authenticity: The Art of Living Without a Mask

On my blog, I often talk about imperfection. Not to provoke, but because it’s all I know. The sessions I love most are the ones where you can hear Cassie purring in the background, or Phoebie meowing suddenly, as if to remind us that spirituality isn’t a bubble outside the world—it’s rooted in the everyday. People tell me: “It’s so real, so human.” As if, without trying, I’d found the key: being myself, doubts, laughter, and cats included.

One evening, I recorded a guided meditation in the middle of a hiccuping fit. I almost deleted it. Then I remembered Cassie, who sometimes sneezes mid-cuddle and carries on as if nothing happened. I kept the take. And it became one of my listeners’ favorites.

Authenticity is this: daring to show what is, without filters. Not because it’s “brave,” but because it’s freeing. Cassie doesn’t play a role. She is. And that, perhaps, is the greatest lesson she’s given me.

Practicing with Cassie: Three Exercises to Learn from Her

1. The “Purr” Meditation Sit near her (or any animal, really), close your eyes, and listen. To her breath, her purr, the sound of her paws shifting in her sleep. Sync your breathing with hers. You’ll see: in minutes, your mind quiets. No need for complicated mantras. Just that sound, like an anchor.

2. The “Paw Touch” Pause When Cassie touches you—places a paw on your knee or rubs her head against your hand—stop. For one minute. Just one. Feel the warmth of her fur, the weight of her presence. That’s mindfulness: returning to contact, to the tangible.

3. The “Four-Legged” Gratitude Journal Every evening, jot down three moments when Cassie (or another animal) made you smile. A glance, a ridiculous pose, an unexpected cuddle. You’ll quickly realize: joy is everywhere, if we take the time to see it.

Mindfulness: A Bridge Between Species

Animals reconnect us to what matters. Xena taught me resilience, Phoebie taught me curiosity, and Cassie? Cassie taught me to love myself as I am. You don’t need to be a monk in retreat to practice mindfulness. You just need to open your eyes. To watch a cat sleep. To feel the grass under your feet. To breathe.

One day, as I meditated in the garden, Cassie curled up beside me. I felt her tiny body rise and fall with each breath, and suddenly, everything was clear: spirituality isn’t a distant quest. It’s here, in the living, in the ordinary. In a tortoise’s slow steps, a cat’s stretch, a rustling tree.

What If We Lived Like Cassie?

So today, I invite you to a challenge: what if, for just an hour, you lived like Cassie? Without expectation, without masks, with that quiet trust that everything is already here.

No need to change the world. Just be in it.

(And if you want more stories like this, you know where to find me: at [La Danse de Shiva et Bouddha], where imperfection is always welcome.)