Tracy Climbs the Stairs

Posted on March 19, 2003 in Cats

Last night, I heard a thudding sound on the lowest end of the stairway leading to the loft. The knocks fell hard, like the steps of Lon Chaney Jr.’s Mummy coming out of the tomb. I wondered why Lynn was limping, why she was pulling this dead man’s walk charade. I turned to look for her head popping up. At the moment when the space should have been filled with her, there was nothing. But the thuds continued.

A minute later, Tracy lumbered up the stairs. She’d grown thin but fat in the belly. I helped her up the last steps. “Baby,” I whispered. “You shouldn’t do this. Why don’t you go to the bedroom and sleep with Mommy?” She rubbed her head against my chin and purred loudly. “That’s OK,” she said in my imagination. “I wanted to be with you.”

I keep wondering when this cat is going to die. Maybe it’s not such a smart thing. Maybe I should just enjoy the moments she chooses to spend with me, hold her in my lap, be glad that she is with me.