Qigong & The Cult of Cat Contemplatives

The morning began with drizzling rain, a liver-cleansing chant, and a cat excusing himself from what I can only assume was a cloud of flying psychic shrapnel.

I’ve been practicing qigong every morning for several weeks now. Most days, I go out to the backyard. But today, it was raining, so I stayed indoors and joined a Zoom class on my laptop, doing the session in the kitchen in front of my sunshine-simulating light box.

The cats, having polished off breakfast, wandered off—except for Callie, who assumed his usual perch beneath my chair, the way a monk might return to his mat.

It’s an hour-long class, and near the end, we did the healing sounds. In Traditional Chinese Medicine, the liver is associated with anger, and the sound “Gong” is used to release it. As I chanted—loudly and repeatedly—Callie, the Movement Minimalist, who had been still and quiet under my chair, did something surprising.

He rose and brushed lightly against my leg. A silent check-in.

Then, as if politely excusing himself from the room due to excessive psychic turbulence, he moved to the threshold and stood watch like a small gray sentinel, his back straight, gaze alert.

Later, as we transitioned into breathing the color red into the heart, Callie returned. He settled beneath my chair once more, like a guardian reclaiming his post—as if he sensed that the rage had transmuted into something softer. Maybe even love.

After class, I sat down with breakfast and coffee.

That’s when Nebula arrived.

She tapped my thigh with one paw. Gently. Almost shyly. A kittenish gesture from a cat who normally carries herself like a celestial empress. She climbed into my lap and settled in, half-lidded eyes serene, paws tucked neatly beneath her like a nun folding her hands in prayer.

For a brief, glowing moment, I truly believed she had joined a religious order. Sister Nebula.

But then I remembered: this was the same creature who whacks Callie multiple times a day. Who occasionally grabs him in a headlock.

So what order is this, exactly?

The Radiant Clawstice of the Perpetual Smack?

A tiny, exclusive sect headquartered in my house. Membership: one. Famous for its strict vows of:

• Radiant Solitude (the other cats avoid her)

• Sacred Whappage (administered swiftly, without personal animus)

• Cream Cheese and Yogurt Communion (single-cat servings only)

Callie watches the energy field. Nebula enforces it. And me? I just try to finish my coffee before one of them stages a coup d’état over my lap.

Welcome to my home—where healing is sacred, smacks are instructional, and the contemplative life sometimes has claws.

Addendum: Teaching from the Radiant Clawstice

Callie’s lesson: Silent witness, energetic empathy, and precise timing.

Where in your life are you learning by quiet proximity, not performance?

What emotional field are you currently standing at the edge of?

Lessons from Nebula?

Discipline with clarity and rest with conviction. Choose your companions with impeccable discernment.

Don’t second-guess your instincts.