Adventures With Little Old Men

    My sister left on a vacation for a couple of weeks and so I watched her babies for her. They were two cats, both nineteen years old and came with the an assortment of accoutrements (which I always encourage) and a little bag of meds. She relayed to me their individual issues and her concerns. They sleep a lot, they are ‘tippy’ when walking, White Kitty gets disorientated, has cataracts and needs IV fluids every five days or so and Grey Kitty has mobility problems so also tips over sometimes, has pain meds for arthritis and forgets where the litter box is on occasion. None of these are a problem. I am well versed in senior animals. I am told they do this and they do that but they never do ‘blank’. 

    My sister was wrong on several points.

    Grey Kitty has the aforementioned afflictions with mobility and so when I let him go out in the yard, which is completely fenced, I watched him fly with blinding speed to the back end to investigate the only hole in the fencing. This poor tippy, immobile cat left me in the dust as I chased after him and had his head halfway under the privacy boards by the time I caught up to him. (A person has to wonder what was wrong with the other 4800 square feet of yard.)  Meanwhile White Kitty is almost right where I left him near the door.

    White Kitty is a deliberate walker. Each paw must go down just so as if he is moving through a mine field. One here, next one…NO!..put it over there…yes, that’s better…careful, careful. I’m surprised he gets anywhere at all.

    So with Grey Kitty in my arms we make our way back to where White Kitty is stationed –or stationary. I put Grey down and stood over White because in the back of my mind I think I heard sister tell me, ‘He looks rabbit sized so I’m always careful to be near him so a bird of prey doesn’t get him.’ As I’m turning this over in my head, Grey starts eyeballing that hole again and before I chase after him I look skyward, grab snack-sized White and go skipping off to gather Grey before he breeches the escape hatch. After collecting both cats I decide to take them inside and have a drink. Something alcoholic.

    Having recovered from that (I mean my recovery) and thought I would do a bit of writing since they were both napping. I had only been working about fifteen minutes when all of a sudden I here this screeching coming from the other room from White, who apparently forgot where he was and found him in the middle of the living room crying. I spent a moment getting him orientated, he began to purr and so I went back to the office only to find Grey doing this uwe[]>hwZ$w222229ahHD AH 894852 q3 sort of nonsense across my keyboard.

    “ I thought you old guys liked to nap.” I stated but he only purred in response as he laid down on my laptop.

    You see what I’m saying? They never do what mama says they are going to do. For two weeks we had ourselves an adventure with outside activities, inside games and what with forgetting where the litter box was occasionally and vomiting hairballs White wasn’t the only one walking through an imagined minefield. They were very vocal when they wanted something and equally demonstrative when they didn’t, like when meds had to be given or it was time to get brushed. They slept in bed with me, ate all the time and liked to drag my clothes around for some reason. They pushed things off of counters if they thought the item shouldn’t be there and liked to sit on my dinner table for hours, but only if the kitchen fan wasn’t on. White doesn’t like a breeze- but then White doesn’t climb furniture anymore either, says mama.

    My sister returned from vacation and we visited for several hours, then she took her babies home, so happy to have them with her again. I called the next day to see how they were, her and her little old men, and she was happy to be home along with the cats.

    “Oh, you know Roxi, they are just laying about. They sleep all the time. That’s all they do.”


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