|Must Have Known I Was Writing About Her--She Took a Nap!|
The old cat has been trying to tell me something all morning. I checked her food dish--full. Her water is fresh. I cleaned the cat-box. Hubby vacuumed her bed so it's comfy and arranged the way she likes it.
There are no suitcases out, which always makes her nervous. Neither are there strangers in the house, which sends her to the basement for the duration of their visit. She stopped going outside some time ago, which we figure is due to a natural sense of self-preservation: She's too old to escape the critters that roam our woods, coyotes, owls, and the like. The hummingbirds outside the kitchen window sometimes upset her, but that doesn't seem to be the case today.
So what is she on about? The vet says they get senile, just like people do, and the crying is their expression of confusion. I think she's become a worrier. She likes it best when the two of us sit in our recliners, where she can see that we're both okay. She spends equal time with each of us, moving at some urge only she understands from one to the other. That's great, but we can't spend all day, every day there just to make the cat happy.
If I spoke cat, I could explain to her that everything is fine and we aren't jetting off to Afghanistan anytime soon. But I don't, so we keep talking at each other but not to each other.
I understand it's much harder to learn dog--all those tonal variations!