Monday, May 3, 2010 7:45 a.m.

Monday, May 3, 2010
Aliso Viejo, CA

Sunny, 62°F
Wind: N at 0 mph
Humidity: 62%

For 23 hours and 55 minutes per day my Tommie cat is content to be little more than an overstuffed sofa cushion; but, in the mornings, I open the front door and allow him a few moments of careful freedom.

He squeaks with delight as his chubby, tabby bottom runs down the steps. At the bottom, he collapses, squirming and squeaking at the luxury. After he has rubbed off every trace of confinement, he tentatively whiffs the nearby hedges, questing for the hint of unseen visitors.

He would explore for hours if I let him or at least until the rumbling of a delivery truck sent him rushing back to the safety of his known world. But the clock is ticking and my calendar is calling. I wish I could grant him the liberty he loves, but the outside world is too unmerciful for an unsupervised sofa tabby. I can’t keep him safe from the places his curiosity would lead him.

I shoo my darling boy back up the steps. He yields, yet stops every few steps to collect those last intriguing scents that he can dream about until tomorrow.

I’m inspired to take the green commute to work north along Laguna Canyon Road past the James Dilley Greenbelt, over the Laguna Lakes trail and over the Stagecoach trail. I roll down my window to scent the wind even though the air is too cold against my bare cheek and arm. My eyes pick the California poppies growing along the roadside and embrace the brilliant yellow mustard grass. The scent of scrub brush and sage makes my hiking boots call out my name. My eyes, my mind, my soul exhilarate at the open arms of the rolling hills.

Too soon I move into the pushing-traffic pavement of the 405 during peak commute. For a few moments, every green thing is gone. I scold myself to be grateful for the benefits civilization brings—food, clothing, safety in numbers. But I’m more grateful still that, like my tabby, I can be magically transported from captivity by remembering that my Father originally planned for me to live in the beauty of a garden and that someday I will.