Geriatric

Posted on August 12, 2002 in Cats

Tracy has taken to sleeping in the doorway to the bedroom, a dangerous place because it lies on the direct path from the bed to the bathroom. I’ve stepped on her as she lies atop the heap of dirty clothes which we habitually stack next to the door. “Tracy!” I whine as she squawks her outrage and moves a few feet before she drops to the carpet. I shiver when I think of how thin those legs feel under the part weight of my toe. This cat is old and brittle. I dread her impending extinction.. She presses herself against me — my ankles or my calves — even when it is hot. We have conversations, she and I, about mortality. My latest fancy is that she says to me: “Daddy? You know when I am as old as you are, I’ll be dead.” Yes, little Lamb. Yes, alas, you will.