It’s been 16 years since I caught Harry and George as feral kittens in North Carolina. Harry remains as outgoing as he’s always been, and George, after many years, blossomed into a sweet, still somewhat shy but much more outgoing cat who actually sits next to strangers after fewer than three visits.
While George is still a snuggle-seeking baby, Harry is, as always, my dude, clearly considering himself my partner, telling me when it’s time to eat, sitting next to the tub while I shower, watching over me when I’m sick, and following me around the house tirelessly. He’s still brave and loyal despite the cloudiness in his eyes, some missing teeth, and the growing stiffness in his legs that makes it hard for him to climb onto the bed now.
Each night he curls up next to my neck, resting his head on my shoulder and purring loudly and happily. Often I turn on my side, facing him, our heads touching, my fingers tangled among the soft pads of his paws. At such times I am filled with a love and gratitude so powerful that it overwhelms me, knowing that the only thing that can match its intensity is the howling, suffocating grief that will replace it when he is gone.
2 comments:
You brought back many happy thoughts of a long time friend - Bilbo and I lived together for a number of years before I met my wife. Both of us were hedonistic bachelors, (of course), but adjusted well to married life. I was devastated when he passed on a number of years ago...
New chapter, though - Miles just recently entered my life - feels like the beginning of a beautiful relationship...
dp
I remember Mr. Bilbo presiding over a Hovey cast party at your most excellent Waltham digs. As I recall, he was a patookins.
Miles sounds lovely. It's amazing how many animals (and people) can fit into our hearts.
Post a Comment