She's Getting Old

Oh, my girl. As I type, she is rubbing her chin along the corner of the screen. A habit she's had since she was six months old.

She is now fourteen.

In terms of felines, she's an old girl. You can feel it in the way her bones are noticeable under her fur when you pet her. You can hear it in her scratchy chirping voice. You can see it in the way she more gingerly jumps on and off of furniture. 

She is not the kitten she once was. 

She spends much more time curled up next to me at night than she does prowling the house. She has been given permission from the vet to "eat more soft food," as she is having a harder time with the dry. She is slowing down.

Oh, my girl.

She's technically not my first cat. But the ginger gentleman I owned in high school had to be put down prematurely--we only shared a couple years together, mostly over homework and television.

Princess I have seen each other through the long haul.*

In her fourteen years, she's moved ten times. From apartment to apartment, from house to house. Helping me settle into adulthood, and following diligently along through its many transitions. I haven't always been the best owner; we are good at driving each other a little crazy some days. But we've stuck together.

She's been the consistency.

She's there on the couch, snoozing in a sunbeam.

She's there on my bed, curled like a letter J.

She's there at my feet, chirping away while I put on mascara.

She's there on my lap, keeping my legs warm as I read a book.

She's there in the grass--we share the same fresh summer breeze.

We kinda go together.

I'll admit, she's not one of those intuitive cats you read sappy stories about--the cat who just knows when their owner is in need of some sort of emotional support. The cat who's super in tune with their owner's feelings.

That's never how we've worked.

Still, we have our own rhythms and routines.

She generally knows not to prance around my bed before the alarm goes off.

We get ready for work together each morning.

She often eats breakfast while I do.

She leaves me cat toys on the bath mat--her "hunting" spoils.

She comes when I whistle.

She eats bugs on command.

Oh, my girl. When she and I were both much younger, I sometimes contemplated on how I'd be "well into my 30's" by the time I'd have to prepare myself to let her go. It seemed like a crazy notion, being a well-established adult with this cat.

And here we are.

A few more years--her time is soon approaching. I am not reflecting this to be morbid; I am appreciating the journey. Because I do believe that we have shared something of a journey together. And I think she must recognize that she is in these last few miles of this journey, because she interacts with me in a different way lately. She sticks closer; she loves fiercer; she communicates more. Or maybe that's just what happens when you spend so many years with a pet--the rhythm and intuition just take over. Or maybe I'm just imagining the whole thing.

Regardless, I will respond in kind; there are only a few precious years left in this journey, and I want to savour them all.

So I stick closer.
I love fiercer.
I communicate more.

Oh, my girl.






* I want to make clear that I am not undermining the journey I have shared with Akira, my other feline. But today, it is not her story I'm telling.