She was all cat: an athlete, a hunter, a courteous and amusing room mate. She was aloof but not indifferent. She liked us and paid us attention in pure cat terms. I have received numerous rodent offerings, and could always count on her to flop over on the mulch to welcome us home after absences. Continue reading
My old blind cat Sweetie died at the age of 20-something. I don’t know what that is in human years, exactly, but recently I’ve thought of her as 106.
For the past couple of years, my home office has been a kitty nursing home, with her litter box and food bowl at one end, the rug folded and put away to save it from her accidents. It often did not smell very good, so I stopped using the day bed in there.
First thing in the morning and first thing when I got home from work I fed her the smelly soft food that was all she could eat. I scooped her poop a lot, to keep the smell bearable. These were the sacrifices I made for her. I felt that taking care of her in her old age was my duty, and I obscurely felt that if I did this for her, someday someone might treat me well, if and when I get very, very old.