Just watching my cats can make me happy.

Host: The afternoon was made of quiet gold, the kind that settles slowly through the window, dust turning to glitter in the air. Outside, the city murmured — distant horns, a faint breeze, the soft hum of lives continuing. But inside, everything was still.

In the small apartment, Jack sat cross-legged on the floor, a notebook open beside him, its pages filled with half-drawn sketches and unfinished thoughts. A single cat, orange and sleek, stretched lazily on the windowsill, its tail flicking in rhythm with some invisible song.

Jeeny entered quietly, carrying two cups of tea, her steps soft enough not to disturb the moment. The light caught her hair, a halo of black against the warm glow.

She watched him watching the cat — a simple, still moment that somehow felt infinite.

Jeeny: (smiling) “Paula Cole once said, ‘Just watching my cats can make me happy.’ I think she meant this exact moment.”

Jack: (without looking up) “You think happiness is as simple as that? Watching something that doesn’t even know what it’s doing?”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s why it’s happiness. Because it doesn’t need a reason.”

Host: The cat yawned, its tiny mouth opening like a perfect, silent O of contentment. The sunlight stretched further, spilling across Jack’s notebook, illuminating his unfinished words: “Purpose — or peace?”

Jack: “You know, sometimes I envy them. They don’t worry about meaning or success. They just… are.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s the lesson. You don’t have to earn happiness, Jack. You just have to stop arguing with it when it shows up.”

Host: Her voice carried that gentle conviction — soft yet undeniable — like the sound of rain beginning on a windowpane. Jack glanced up, a flicker of a smile threatening to betray his usual stoicism.

Jack: “You really think we can be happy just by watching something so… ordinary?”

Jeeny: (laughs lightly) “Ordinary? Look at him — he’s a philosopher in fur. Every stretch, every nap, every blink is a declaration: ‘The world is enough.’”

Host: The cat, as if understanding its newfound divinity, lifted its head, blinked twice, and began to groom itself with slow, deliberate grace. The sound — that soft rhythmic lick — filled the space with an unexpected kind of serenity.

Jack took a slow sip of tea, the steam rising between them like a fragile veil.

Jack: “You know what I think? Cats are selfish. They don’t care about anyone but themselves. That’s why they’re so peaceful. No expectations.”

Jeeny: (teasing) “Maybe peace isn’t selfishness. Maybe it’s just knowing your own boundaries.”

Jack: “That’s poetic, Jeeny, but the world doesn’t let you live like that. We have bills, heartbreak, responsibilities. Cats don’t have to explain themselves to the IRS.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “True. But we’re not cats. We can learn from them, though — how to pause. How to exist without apologizing.”

Host: Her words floated through the golden light, and for a brief second, it felt as if time itself had slowed its heartbeat to match the rhythm of that small creature’s calm.

Jack: (thoughtful) “You ever wonder if happiness is just… borrowed? Like, moments like this, they don’t belong to us. They just visit.”

Jeeny: “Yes. But maybe that’s what makes them sacred. You don’t own peace; you recognize it when it sits beside you.”

Host: The cat stretched again, this time curling into a perfect circle, its breathing steady, its world entirely sufficient. The light turned softer now, afternoon melting toward evening, everything dipped in the warmth of quiet acceptance.

Jack: “You really believe happiness can come from something so small?”

Jeeny: (gently) “I think happiness only ever comes from the small things. The big ones — success, love, fame — they’re just echoes. But a moment like this… this is real. You can’t fake it.”

Host: The air carried a hush, like the whole world had leaned closer to listen. Jack’s eyes softened, the hard steel of logic giving way to something warmer, something almost tender.

Jack: “You make it sound like I’ve been chasing the wrong things.”

Jeeny: “Maybe you’ve just been chasing too loudly.”

Jack: (chuckles) “You and your metaphors.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “They’re the only way I can talk to you. You hide behind logic the way that cat hides behind the curtain when it’s scared.”

Host: He couldn’t help but smile now, really smile — the kind that starts as resistance and ends in surrender. The cat, seemingly satisfied with its mysterious role in the universe, flicked its tail and closed its eyes, as though blessing their quiet truce.

Jack: “You know, maybe Paula Cole was onto something. Watching cats might actually be therapy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not therapy. It’s presence. When you watch a cat, you stop thinking about who you’re supposed to be. You just… exist with it.”

Jack: “You mean I get to stop pretending for five minutes?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And that’s happiness — not fireworks, just… five minutes without pretending.”

Host: The room filled with the sound of their quiet laughter, low and easy, the kind of sound that only happens when both people forget the weight they were carrying. The sun slipped lower, its light turning amber, painting their faces in soft, forgiving hues.

Jack: (softly) “Do you ever think the universe gave us cats just to remind us what peace looks like?”

Jeeny: “I think the universe gives us small miracles all the time. We just forget to notice.”

Jack: “And if we notice, does that make us happy?”

Jeeny: “No. It makes us alive.”

Host: Her words drifted into the fading light, and the city’s hum outside returned like a slow, inevitable tide. But inside, something stayed still — an island of quiet, untouched by the chaos beyond the window.

The cat purred softly, a vibration of pure being, filling the silence like a heartbeat for the room itself.

Jack: (half-whispering) “Maybe that’s what happiness is, then. Not the noise — the stillness.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The stillness between all the trying. The small pauses where we remember that we’re not broken.”

Host: They sat there, both watching the cat, both caught in that same gentle spell. For once, neither felt the need to speak. The moment was enough — unexplainable, unrepeatable, true.

Outside, the sky deepened into violet, and the first lights of evening blinked awake across the city.

Host: As the scene closed, the camera would linger — on the cat curled in the last ribbon of sunlight, on Jack’s softened face, on Jeeny’s quiet smile. No music, no movement, just breath and light.

Because sometimes, as Paula Cole said, happiness really is that simple.

Just watching.
Just being.
Just remembering that life, in all its small, warm, fragile moments — is enough.