Hello my little tummy ticklers! Thank you for visiting. I don’t want to bum you out (or as we cats put it, butt you out) but today’s post will take a more serious, personal tone. Don’t worry, though. All is well, I merely want to share an authentic slice of life with you.
Let me purr from the outset that I have an exceptional life. Don’t cry for me, Argentina! I’m a very happy cat, as I’m sure you’re aware. After several moves, and now, in my 17th year, we seem to be settled (finally!). The 6+ years I’ve been in this family have been my happiest.
However, I’m noticing some changes and my people are noticing them, too. For example, I’ve become a lot more vocal. Like, opera-singer-warming-up-before-a-performance vocal. If I’m awake, I’m talking. I’ve written before about how I found my voice after my pal Spicey died and I became an only cat, but this is taking it to another level. I’m singing or chirping unless I’m asleep, being brushed, or petted, then I settle back into a relaxed purr.
This vocalization sometimes manifests itself late at night. I’ll find myself trilling at the top of the stairs while my people are sleeping on the main floor. Inevitably, father will come and talk to me softly until I settle down. Usually, I’ll join them in their bed for a while and their attention calms me down.
But there’s another thing.
I think a lot. Before I do anything, I stop and consider it for quite a while. There are times now when I don’t move about with the confidence I once had.
My people talk to me in reassuring tones. I find myself wanting to be closer to them when they finally settle to watch the big black rectangle in their comfy room. Even Mother! I nestle next to her more often than I’ve ever done. She’s not so bad, really.
I know where everything is and I have a general sense of our routine. I guess I just need more time to make decisions and get around. But even so, I can still scamper up the stairs and play with my catnip mouse as excitedly as any kitten. My behavior isn’t predictable anymore. Ottomans are placed strategically for my furniture-leaping pleasure but lately I’ve been jumping up without them. Still, I am a senior. Some changes are to be expected, I suppose.
Deep inside, I have security in the knowledge that my people will assist me in any way possible. If it ever came to such a time as I needed to be carried on stairs or fed by hand, they would do it. And they’d do it happily. We are family. They love me beyond measure. So, even as I yowl at the level of Maria Callas, I know that it’s all going to be okay. Never a raised voice even as I screech like a banshee at them. And never anything but a smile to greet me. It’s a lucky life for me.
Thank you for reading my little tome today, friends. May your furballs be infrequent and your treats be many. And may you find the love I’ve found with these nutty nomads I call Mother and Father. If you don’t find it, give it, and you’ll get it back furever.