Too many things do.
She now needs help to get onto the bench and so, that little chair. In real life, it's a pale blue. She has new stairs she's not yet talked herself onto - I think they will stay white. She can no longer jump onto the bed or the couch, but can pull herself up, and in truth, some days she manages to get into the house through the high-up open bathroom window, but I've never seen her do it. She's just suddenly in the house.
She must have one big jump in her every so often.
She is becoming a lap cat, and I try to ignore that Maggie also did that, right there near the end. She sleeps more and she needs more warmth next to her, and sometimes . . . and sometimes . . . well. So many of those sometimes. It is what it is. Just aging, I tell myself. I can relate to that. I'd like to think that every once in a while I have one big jump left in me.
i leave the door open for the wolf.
he never enters, just stands and watches, then turns away.
headed for home, away from the rain.
this morning's birds were the brown ones, the ones with stripes; i can never remember what they're called. one stood at the open door, just like the wolf, lucky that the cat was sleeping.
these are the things that change. once where there were owls there became hawks, and now there are crows. next door a new baby is almost here. it is june 1st in texas, 4 something in the afternoon, and the temperature remains in the 70s. my air conditioner is mostly broken, and so far it's mostly been not needed. the rain keeps coming, though, a change from last year continuing on. i come home at the end of the day and i feel different, the air feels different. the days slip by. the world is too hard and life too fragile.
but. there are those big jumps waiting for us, jumps we'll make. a small cat has taught me that.