Cats have it all - admiration, an endless sleep, and company

The poet Rod McKuen once uttered with gentle wonder: “Cats have it all—admiration, an endless sleep, and company only when they want it.” At first, these words seem but a lighthearted tribute to a beloved animal. Yet beneath their soft surface lies a profound reflection on the nature of freedom, peace, and the art of living. For in the cat, McKuen beheld not merely fur and whiskers, but a living parable: a creature that demands nothing yet receives all, that moves with grace through life’s burdens without carrying them upon its shoulders.

To say that cats enjoy admiration is to recognize their quiet majesty. Unlike dogs, who plead for affection, the cat simply exists, regal and unhurried, and the world bends toward it in awe. In this, we glimpse a truth about dignity: it is not earned by striving, nor begged from others, but revealed when one is wholly oneself. A cat does not ask for admiration—it commands it through presence alone. And so McKuen reminds us that dignity arises not from the approval of others, but from the stillness of knowing who you are.

The gift of endless sleep is not merely indulgence, but wisdom in disguise. The cat surrenders to rest without guilt, without apology. In contrast, humans chase rest as though it were sin, sacrificing peace upon the altar of endless striving. Yet the ancients knew: the body must sleep, the mind must wander, the spirit must dream, else the vessel cracks. In the slumber of the cat lies a lesson—that rest is not laziness but renewal, not weakness but strength. Consider the soldiers of Alexander, forced to march without pause until they faltered; had they learned from the cat, they would have seen that sleep, too, is part of victory.

And what of company only when they want it? Here lies the cat’s greatest secret. The cat is neither slave to loneliness nor prisoner to obligation. It comes and goes freely, choosing companionship not from need, but from desire. This is not cruelty but self-possession, a mastery of boundaries. How many among us live otherwise—bound by fear of rejection, chained to the need for constant approval, suffocated by the demands of others? The cat teaches that true love and fellowship arise when freely chosen, not when compelled. In its aloofness, it reveals a higher form of intimacy: one rooted in freedom.

History itself shows us this wisdom. Consider the philosopher Diogenes of Sinope, who lived in simplicity, shunning the riches and honors of Athens. Like the cat, he accepted company only when he desired it, and rejected all that bound him in chains of expectation. Though many mocked him, Alexander the Great himself once stood before him in admiration, offering wealth and power. Yet Diogenes asked only that the king step aside and not block the sunlight. In this, as in the nature of cats, we see the paradox: the less one clings, the more one possesses.

The lesson, then, is simple yet profound. To live as cats live is not to forsake humanity, but to reclaim balance. Seek admiration not by chasing it, but by living authentically. Embrace rest without guilt, for the body and soul require renewal as much as they require labor. And guard your company, offering your presence not out of fear or compulsion, but out of true desire, for then your relationships will be pure, free of bitterness, and alive with sincerity.

Practical wisdom flows from this: take time each day to rest, without shame. Practice being alone until solitude feels like strength, not emptiness. Set boundaries with courage, choosing company that nourishes rather than drains you. Above all, carry yourself with quiet dignity, as the cat does—needing no applause, but receiving it nonetheless.

So hear McKuen’s words not merely as a tribute to the feline, but as a teaching for the human soul. “Cats have it all.” And we, too, may have it all, if we dare to walk with dignity, to rest without guilt, and to give our presence freely, as a gift, and not as a chain. For in this lies the art of living—not bound by the world, but moving through it with the grace of a silent, watchful, and eternal companion.