Star in a Stunt
On camera, in the action. We roll, you shine.
Curious who my boss really is? →
Star in a Stunt
On camera, in the action. We roll, you shine.
Curious who my boss really is? →
Here's a thing the civilization figured out a long time ago, and I'm only now catching up to: animals might be the purest kindness there is. Unbridled. Without judgment. Without distraction. A dog doesn't weigh whether you've earned it. A cat doesn't check its phone first (well — Nugget judges, but only me, and only fairly). They're present in a way we keep forgetting how to be: food, the ball, the laser, the nap, the person. That's it. That's the whole list.
So we gave Nugget a column. And we gave you a Wall. Because the kindest stories a lot of us know aren't about people at all.
Nugget dictates; a volunteer transcribes; I am not permitted to edit. The blog was not my idea — who needs a cat's opinion on my kindness? — but the civilization insisted, and I've learned to pick my battles. None of the photos below were approved by Nugget. No photo is ever approved by Nugget. This is itself a statement.
The man looks at the phone. Morning. Night. He has looked at it while I sat directly on the thing he was trying to look at, which should have ended the matter, and did not. Here is what he misses while he looks at it: me. I am right here. I am the kindness. Put it down. Give me the snack. The world becomes kinder by exactly one cat's worth, immediately. You're welcome.
They tell you the cape is his. It is not. I wear it as a cape when there is work. As a scarf when there is not. As a blanket when I have decided, on behalf of everyone, that the day is over. He thinks the Council gave him the cape. It was me. I also know what the missing ingredient in the Mister is. I will not be telling him. A humble man is a kind man, and I am building him a very humble man, one withheld secret at a time.
People say cats are judgmental. False. I judge exactly one person — the man — and only when he deserves it, which is often, but fairly. You, stranger, I do not judge at all. You walked in, you exist, that is enough for me. This is the kindness humans keep overcomplicating. You don't have to earn the nap on your lap. You simply have to be a warm and available surface. Be a warm and available surface for someone today.
He talks endlessly about holding the door. I will tell you the truth about doors: I want to be on the other side of every one of them, immediately, and then once there, the other side again. This is not indecision. This is keeping my options open. The kindness, if you must find one, is that I let him feel useful by opening them for me. I could do it myself. I choose to let him contribute.
There is a cereal with his face on it. A-OK Man Pops. He buys it because I look at the box, and he has decided this means I endorse it. I do not endorse cereal. I endorse looking, which is the most powerful thing a creature can do, and which he wastes constantly on the phone. The only correct use of money is to notice what someone is looking at and provide it. He got that part right. Broken clock.
He carries me over his shoulder like a sack. I allow this. Not because I require transport — I have four functioning legs and the superior plan — but because being carried lets him believe he is needed, and a creature who feels needed is a creature who will keep filling the bowl. Let the humans carry you sometimes. It is a kindness to them. They have so little.
Here is wisdom. The red dot is not real. I have known this for years. I chase it anyway — fully, joyfully, with my whole body — because the chasing is real even when the dot is not. Your humans call this "play." They have mostly stopped doing it. They wait for the dot to be real before they will run. That is why they are tired. Chase the unreal dot. That is the entire secret. I will not be elaborating.
There is always one guest the others say to avoid. "He doesn't like cats." I go directly to that one. I sit on that one. By the end of the evening that one is a changed person, quietly, and tells no one on the drive home. This is my finest work and I do it without a cape. Go sit on the person who says they don't like you. Gently. It works on almost everyone.
I will be honest, because I am always honest. I love the wood-burning stove more than I love the man. The stove asks nothing. The stove never looks at a phone. The stove is simply, reliably warm, and warmth given freely and without comment is the highest form of kindness. Be more like the stove. Be the warm thing in the room that asks for nothing. The man is trying. The man is not yet the stove.
People hold conversations long past their natural end. They keep talking because stopping feels unkind. This is backwards. There is great mercy in simply leaving — mid-thought, mid-word — and letting the silence do the rest. I will demonstrate. The kindest gift I can give you, reader, is to stop right here, even though there is clearly more to
Here's the part that matters. We think your pet has taught you something about kindness that a person never could — and we'd like it on the Wall. Tell us about the small, stubborn, unjudging kindness your animal brings into your house. No names required (theirs or yours — anonymity is the rule, and pets are natural anonymous givers anyway). The best ones get posted. Nugget will pretend not to read them. He reads all of them.
Submit a story, or write a guest entry for Nugget's column · or ☎ 1-844-KIND-111 · ask for Gloria · she keeps the Wall.
Submit to the Pet Wall →Write it here. When you hit send, it opens your email to AOK Man (ego@aokmankind.com) with your words ready to go. No names needed. Nugget reviews every one.
Opens your email app. You stay anonymous — we only post the story.
An anonymous act of kindness with four legs still counts. Maybe counts double.