And overall she seems to be doing well for an old moggie; she's fairly sound of wind and limb, her appetite is good and she seems to be compos mentis, which if you've ever had a senile cat is a blessing. Imagine the stereotypical cranky, gooned-out human and add a full set of teeth and claws and a proclivity for random excretion and you've got a real household nightmare.
She has lost a bit off her vertical jump; it's kind of sad watching her claw her way up on the bed to reach her favorite sleeping spot. And perhaps the single thing she feels the most now that she's made old bones is the cold. Which is why I snapped this picture of her sprawled right on top of the heat register; she craves warmth and spends much of the time she isn't eating directly atop these things, dreaming that she is stretched out on a mossy limb deep in the steaming jungles of Central America, awaiting an unwary tapir to pass beneath her so that she might drop on it with ruthless tooth in gory jaw.
Yeah, she thinks, that would be cool.(apologies to Charles Pierce)
No comments:
Post a Comment