Master Buddhapuss,

Will the Anna Nicole insanity ever end? I’m sick of it all. She’s dead and the news about her just won’t go away.

Spiro in Spokane

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Dear Skippy From Some Obscure Place,

I too am sick of your idiocy, but you do not see me turning away. My destiny, my destiny, I must embrace–whatever the cost may be.

For years I have concealed an explosive secret, deceiving even Sam, the bearer of sushi pizza and pats. But I must no longer hide the truth.

You see, Skippy, I am Anna Nicole Smith’s daddy. Tis true, her mother and I were quite fond of each other. You are not surprised. The elder Ms. Hogan always had a taste for the finer things in life, and I am tres fine. Once you go black cat, you never go back.

A more discrete Zen Master might not own his progeny, even in death, but despite all Anna’s whooping and whoring, she had a crafty flair for drawing the eye. I’d say she got that from me. Attracting attention that is.

Anyway Skippy, if you don’t mind, I want to celebrate the life and times of my poor lost angel. So be quiet, pass the remote, and enjoy another episode of VH1 Who’s Behind Anna Nicole Smith, and What Are They Doing?

Respectfully Submitted,

Master Buddhapuss

Question for the resident Zen Master? Email buddhapuss[AT]samhilliard.com

End of year happenings can excite as much as they can depress. Luckily the bleakness passed over my street—and it’d be great if that black cloud spared everyone I know, actually—it unloaded somewhere close, because I chatted with a few people drenched in hurt city. For many people the silly season catalyzes feelings on both extremes. I guess the downtime of holidays forces reflection, the sort most people don’t allow for normally. And maybe the year wasn’t all they wanted, or expected. The Wife said once that attendance at AA meetings swells in the last two weeks of December, through the first week of the new year. I believe her.

As a child this week of December was my favorite time—period. Making my case with the faux Santa in the Mall. Begging for the impossible gift from my parents. Calls to distant relatives, praying they didn’t send another ugly sweater. Oh, the buildup. Then, when I could take it no longer, I stormed down the steps at seven a.m. and found a mound of presents beneath the tree. Beautiful.

Now that I’m older and own cats who paw shiny flashing things, the season assumes a new dimension.

Happy Holidays!

Kayla asked for more recent pictures of Buddhapuss, so here they are:

On the cat recovery front, Buddhapuss has been following the special crystal reducing diet to the last instruction. After he finishes the cycle, it’s diet time.

When your cat is bigger than a super sized Thanksgiving turkey and moves about as frequently, one expects the occasional chide about the cat’s weight. Usually, I laugh and say, yes Buddhapuss is big boned. This year is different.

Due to his advanced age, weight, low activity levels — the walk between the bed and the supper bowl is short, and his alteration ( momma calls that “fixed” ), he is a ticking time bomb for a major backup due to crystal formations. A ticking time bomb. Jesus, that sounds bad.

Well, that warning scared me straight. No more sushi pizza for Buddhapuss. From now until May he gets only a special food that regulates his pH levels and dissolves crystals. After we stabilize the overtaxed bladder, it’s on to Operation Less Buddhpauss.

Can cats do Stairmaster? Hmm…

Dear Buddhapuss,

Haven’t seen much of you around lately. I bet you ate too much on vacation and exploded. Your absence proves my theory of Fatus Cattus: all felines expand to test the maximum density their frames can support.

Don’t blow up at the keyboard,
A Learned Reader

Dear Ignorant Squeegie Person,

Love letters that gush with such sentiments make the job of reviewing emails from every Tom, Dick, and Jezebel so meaningful. Really, Squeegie, let’s approach your question in the correct order, from the logical to the scurrilous.

First, the flicker of truth in your question. Yes, you have not seen me around lately; I was on sabbatical. Unlike Michael Moore and Kevin Smith, this big, furry love stud did not follow a calorie restrictive diet in the month of August. Sam can have his Atkins, bring on the sushi pizza. Yes, the intense heat in the later summer months slowed, slowed I said, not eliminated, my output. Regardless of the challenges, I followed my normal schedule. Rise early, meditate, nap, and rise again.

See, I worked the summer, as I work through each day, with concision and purpose. Unlike you Squeegie, who probably stand on a street corner and mess up peoples windshields with a dirty rag and demand two dollars.

Third, If I’m answering this, obviously I have not exploded. Enough said.

As for the most laughable part of your missive, this fractured theory about felines. To begin, the use of absolutes like all, or every, weakens the “tollum”. For a statement phrased like that implies that each cat grows bigger until they reach their maximum size. I state with almost one hundred percent confidence, note the word almost Squeegie, that neither I, nor my apprentice are too large for our frames. Am I big boned? Obviously. What’s a Zen Master going to do when he’s hungry? Closed captioned for Squeegie: he’s going to eat.

Don’t worry Squeegie, ain’t nothing blowing up at this keyboard. Still, I’d cover my mouth while I slept all the same. Because like the great American Don King said, “This is America and accidents happen.”

2005 The Year of the Buddhapuss
Master Buddhapuss

Buddhapuss,

What are your thoughts on post traumatic stress (and not just war related)?

Unsigned

Dear Unisgned,

There is a super secret reason for your anonymity, yes? No? Well then allow me to speculate wildly and cast aspersions about your character. Perhaps there are skeletons in your closet that impel you ask this question from beneath the cloak of darkness. Or maybe you are messing around at work, killing time instead of working, like ninety-eight percent of my readers. Note: the remaining two percent are napping. In any case, I have many thoughts on this subject. I have thoughts on every subject, but that was not your question.

I use the American definition of the disease for our exploration in psychic distress. There are actually a larger number of symptoms, but let’s not get all fuzzy go technical here. Simply put, a person witnessed or experienced a situation that either threatened or harmed them or someone else with death or serious injury, and freaked out. Not like a barrista at Starbucks when you order a small coffee instead of a venti, but you know, bad.

The danger of PTS is that the feelings associated with the memory of a bad situation do not defuse. They are so closely coupled, that every time the person encounters the same threat, or perceives a similar threat, all the energy of the original crisis hits them again. In that moment it is as if they are actually in the situation, and to the body and the mind there is no difference between then and now. This may continue forever without treatment.

Obviously a good freak fest can be a major bummer at a cocktail party, especially if a guest reminds you of say, that evil face at the end of a long car ride. I mean you were just a little Zen Master, all cold in the backseat and then your people open the car door and abandon you with the merchant of doom, that one with the needles and and examining table. * shudders *

Excuse me please, I must meditate and collect my thoughts. Deep breathing….

2005 The Year of the Buddhapuss,
Master Buddhapuss

Dear Buddhapuss,

I just discovered Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire. What a brilliant book! My question is: in a fight between you and Lestat, who would win.

Poised in Pennsylvania

Dear Poised,

You so did not just ask me if a Zen master would lose a fight over the minds and souls of a human, did you? Come now Poised, and consider the following facts. I think you might find this instructive.

1) Are there more cats, or as I call them Zen Masters in training, or vampires? Which species dominates number wise. Hint – Zen Masters.
2) Do people invite vampires into their home willingly, knowing full well what stands before them? I should think the answer is no here as well. Then again, maybe these same people enjoy the company of Jehovah’s witnesses or Mormons.
3) Are there are any established schools where one might learn the path of the vampire from a master? Again no, not really. They are a very disorganized lot; their primary advocate in the media for the last twenty years, Anne Rice, has disavowed them. And after she made all that money off their plight, too. Zen, on the other hand, is a proud tradition that stretches back across thousands of years. There’s no disavowal of the path here yesterday, today or tomorrow.
4) The most important question: who must work harder for their kill? Vampires troll for victims in the night, risking discovery or death. Cats have their kill deposited in a bowl on scheduled intervals by their subjects.

So yeah, who’s your daddy, Poised? One last hint, it doesn’t rhyme with LeRat.

2005 The Year of the Buddhpauss
Master Buddhapuss