She woke up crying. Tears streaming down her face. She had a bad dream. She knew it wasn’t real, but couldn’t shake the feeling it brought.
“I had a bad dream. He ran away. Mama brought him outside and he jumped out of her arms and ran away. We couldn’t get him back.”
Shadow is our 18-year-old possibly blind cat we inherited from my brother when we moved to a new place a few years ago. He’s old. He’s loud. He weighs about 5 pounds maybe. She loves him.
He comes to the gate looking for food and she picks him up for a tour of the house. He never complains. He’s just along for the ride, and a bit falling out of her grasp.
We talk regularly about how old he is and that he likely won’t live much longer. Instead of distancing herself to protect her heart, she dove straight in. If he’s going to die soon, he’ll die with all the Roozle love she can pull together for him.
It’s not a bad way to go.
Of course, this Shadow, the noisiest of cats, will likely live to see a few more years and give Roozle some time to perfect her grasp.