Wednesday, April 11, 2012
My elderly cat
Do I love this cat. I have never met anybody so good-natured in my whole life. Easy going, chill, happy to be in the world. Comes when he's called. Plays with yarn. Fetches. Talks allll the time. Never gets mad. And does he ever like me. It's just the mutual adoration society around here! My other cat, who died at 17, loved my husband, preferred men to women in general, and always had such a put-upon look about him. It was hilarious. He was exquisite. It's just so interesting to be the one chosen by a feline. We are very close, I like to tell people. Busker and I: inseparable.
And then last week: I thought he was dying. He stopped eating and he stopped coming upstairs from the basement. I would go down and visit him, sometimes taking him outside for some sunshine, where I could cry in peace. Busker is dying, I kept telling David. Yes, he's a bag of bones, David would reply. It was terrible. I thought I'd get through the Easter weekend and call the vet, just to see if we could do anything for him.
And then, he came upstairs, meowing. He sat next to me on the couch and faced me with the biggest line of snot you ever did see. I wiped it off and just stared at him. I think he had a bad cold. I was sick all week too. We might've had the same thing. He then had some dinner. Came back, purred, and hung out on the couch.
I want to keep him another ten years. It's terrible that we're all only on loan to one another. I think I will bury him in the back yard, in a corner, with some flowers, when the time comes.