Door Slam at Dawn

Why a cosmic national treasure refuses to let me sleep past 5.59 a.m.

Silence, please. I am speaking.

Actually—strike that. I prefer chaos. Preferably before sunrise.

My name is Nebula. I’m a Turkish Angora, which means I am the cosmic queen of everything, an ancient spirit trapped in a cloud of white fur. In Turkey, where our breed originates from, we are considered a national treasure. Frankly, the currency should feature my face.

Yes, I was christened after the Nebula Award, but I think they named it after me.

Some say I am aloof. That is a matter of opinion. I have no need for your laps. I chose my human, the one who laboriously types up my decrees. All other humans inside or outside the household are unpaid extras in my intergalactic biopic. You may admire me from afar. Send me tributes of treats and compliments, and I may purrchance put in a good word to the celestial goddess.

It is a matter of great importance to me that the humans of this household not miss out on matters of great importance by snoozing away their destiny. If they are sleeping past 5.59 a.m., I slam the bedroom door repeatedly. Sometimes I start at 5:00, because complacency is the enemy of spiritual growth.”

Enlightenment begins with movement. Preferably the sound of a regal thump against a hollow bedroom door.

But I do not only haunt the mornings.

No, I also bring ecstatic wisdom at night. In the still hours when dreams seep through the veil, I enter a trance state. I meow, I purr, I rub, I bash. My chosen human calls it my “ecstasy mode.” I call it divine recalibration. You see a cat aggressive-purring; I see an aggressive cosmic download transferring directly into your skull via forehead bonk.

I do not ask why. I just am.

Despite being adopted as a tribute to Lydia (a blind Turkish Angora mix), I share none of her personality—except for this midnight rapture. The humans think it’s a Turkish Angora thing. I think it’s a goddess thing.

You ask why I don’t mingle with the other cats? Darling, I rule them. Obviously. I smack them randomly at odd moments to keep them on their paws. Someone has to maintain the hierarchy, and the others lack the vision.”

And now, for a bit of cosmic wisdom, free of charge:

Stop waiting for permission to sparkle. You don’t need outside validation. You just need one mirror and a belief that you are, in fact, a cosmic event. Be the meteor. Be the moon. Be the door-slam at dawn.

Yours from the stars,
Nebula