In Love With My Cat
If indeed I must be remembered for a period that extends beyond my life, be that period the “old days” or ancient history, then let me be remembered for this: I am madly in love with my cat. There is no greater love than that which I am filled when he looks into my eyes and purrs with that loud, industrial, noise-machine purr that can be heard many blocks away and may be mistaken for an airplane passing overhead (when you squeeze him it gets even louder).
And let it be known that my cat loves me, that he waits for me and that he fawns over me and that the great thrill of his day is to sit on my lap or next to me or at my feet while I aimlessly play with his fur, drawing forth the thunderous sound of his ecstasy. Flopping around as I rub his belly, there is no place he would rather be, no needs or wants left unsatisfied, only the timeless bliss of purrrrrrrrgurglegurpurrrrrrhockhockhaaa.
He is hopeless, dreamless, and vibrating. He flops down stairs and off of beds and couches, laps and futons, with a loud Cla-clump. He is obese. He has absolutely no desire to lose weight, trim down, tone up or fit into a tighter pair of jeans. He is practically blind, his eyes are full of cataracts, and he cannot see the irony. He navigates by sound, memory, and objects immediately in front of his face.
He is getting old, and that makes me sad. He has no pride to be injured, no sense of dignity lost by his now aged state. He was once a bold and adventurous explorer of neighborhoods, and would disappear for days at a time to aimlessly wander the surrounding boroughs, ever curious what lay over the next hill. He still likes to go outside, but he doesn’t go far. His poor vision has left him vulnerable, and left alone in the yard he sometimes begins to cry. He wants someone to sit with him, to be with him while he lays in the sun or rolls in bunches of tree pollen, determined to become as filthy and as joyous as he possibly can. Hot asphalt is a dream-bed in the spring. In the summer, when it gets too hot, he prefers the soft canvas roof of my mother’s 1986 mercedes benz convertible, may it always be covered in his fur.
Some day my cat will die and I will be lost, I will be alone, without the comfort of a cat’s unconditional love.
And let it be known that my cat loves me, that he waits for me and that he fawns over me and that the great thrill of his day is to sit on my lap or next to me or at my feet while I aimlessly play with his fur, drawing forth the thunderous sound of his ecstasy. Flopping around as I rub his belly, there is no place he would rather be, no needs or wants left unsatisfied, only the timeless bliss of purrrrrrrrgurglegurpurrrrrrhockhockhaaa.
He is hopeless, dreamless, and vibrating. He flops down stairs and off of beds and couches, laps and futons, with a loud Cla-clump. He is obese. He has absolutely no desire to lose weight, trim down, tone up or fit into a tighter pair of jeans. He is practically blind, his eyes are full of cataracts, and he cannot see the irony. He navigates by sound, memory, and objects immediately in front of his face.
He is getting old, and that makes me sad. He has no pride to be injured, no sense of dignity lost by his now aged state. He was once a bold and adventurous explorer of neighborhoods, and would disappear for days at a time to aimlessly wander the surrounding boroughs, ever curious what lay over the next hill. He still likes to go outside, but he doesn’t go far. His poor vision has left him vulnerable, and left alone in the yard he sometimes begins to cry. He wants someone to sit with him, to be with him while he lays in the sun or rolls in bunches of tree pollen, determined to become as filthy and as joyous as he possibly can. Hot asphalt is a dream-bed in the spring. In the summer, when it gets too hot, he prefers the soft canvas roof of my mother’s 1986 mercedes benz convertible, may it always be covered in his fur.
Some day my cat will die and I will be lost, I will be alone, without the comfort of a cat’s unconditional love.
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