Beyond the tears and the intense sense of helplessness, I wonder if it is selfish to want more time. More than the beautiful 11 years I have to cherish.
Okay, really 10 beautiful years. The first year was torture.
Ogden Nash got it all wrong when he penned, “The trouble with a kitten is that / When it grows up it’s always a cat.”
Kittens are cute, darling creatures. Try living with one. Arcadio made a habit of charging down the hall, gathering speed as he headed for the bedroom and leaping on top of me. If I didn’t respond, difficult not to, he batted my face and he was completely unaware that at the end of his paw was a claw.
He grew up and turned into a calm, docile cat. Instead of charging around in the middle of the night, he curls up with me. There is nothing so soothing as his sweet purr.
Eleven years isn’t enough. I need that purr. I need his unquestioning companionship. Until now, I’ve needed him much more than he has needed me. I guess it’s my turn.