My cat Frizzy and I are very much alike. He is old, like me; I have wrinkles, he has an unkept fur; my bladder bursts at its own convenience, he also started missing a hit on his way to his litter box. We both have arthritis, and I suspect his hearing is now as bad as mine. The only difference is that I cannot lose a pound while he became very thin. I am the one to blame though, I think with sorrow.
“Frizzy, mealtime, come.” I bend my body and put my hands on the table to push myself up, and in slow motion I walk towards the kitchen. “I have a surprise for you,” I tell him, excited to see how it would work. Some time ago I moved his bowl to a higher counter, to ease my bending and all was well until he stopped eating a week ago. After a costly visit to the veterinary who could only observe the usual, well know problems, I realized my little Fritzchen could not jump anymore.
I take the brand-new cat feeder with a handle, fill in the bowl. I take the long ladle I left ready on the counter and use it to lower the feeder the floor, taking are of not bending beyond my possibility. Oh, my heart sings! Frizzy eats eagerly, splashing half of the food around, the same way my mother used to do when she was old. I feel grateful for my false teeth which still allows me to keep the food inside my mouth. My heart content for the two small joys, I drag my feet to my favourite blue armchair to fall in a light and blissful sleep, the unrivalled remedy to forget my aching body.
❤️❤️❤️