So my cat, the same one I've had for nearly two decades, is sick. She howls wildly at even the slightest provocation, and her bones jut up into her skin, making sharp dagger points across her back and hips. Her once full belly now droops and sways, and her thick, long fur belies her anorexic state. A tumor, securely fastened to her thyroid gland and ballooning outwards from her tiny neck, impedes her breathing, and what lingers is a raspy labored noise reminiscent of someone inflicted with sleep apnea. Not quite a snore, but not quite what you could call breathing either. From time to time, she allows me to pet it, the growth on her neck. As I do, she begins to purr...a loud, desperate grunt-like purr that accelerates as she leans her head back and gently closes her eyes. This is certainly what cat heaven must be like. :)This cat, who I've had since I was little more than a teenager, knows all of my secrets. She has all the dirt, and knows all the right people to rat me out to, yet she remains silent. And although her tolerance of me grows increasingly limited, behind her crankiness and suffering, there is love. As she makes yet another run to the faucet to angle for an additional opportunity for water, she reminds me how precious and perfect life is. I resolve to be more positive. To be more loving. To be more tolerant. To care less about my declining appearance and more about the people around me.
She's just a cat. But she's got it figured out. Someday, I'll be so lucky. :)
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