I am now at the point in mourning for Taylor where the heavy ache is gone. I still haven't removed all of her stuff from the house, but a good bit of it (medical stuff) has gone in the trash.
This is the stage where I expect to see her. And because I expect to see her, my mind puts her there for a second. I always make the same sound when I think I see her - an unsurprised "oh" - which is followed by a surprised "oh".
But the other cats have finally realized that Taylor is not coming back. I have rarely seen such relaxed cats. There was always a definite tension when Taylor walked into the room.
Lately, Blue has taken to flinging himself on me and this is quite a moment considering that he weighs at least twenty pounds. I have been able to pay more attention to Boris, who is very happy to have it. Dylan, Sophie, Brianna, they're all coming around, but I have noticed a weird dynamic between Sophie and Brianna. I think they're trying to sort out who's the Queen of the Hill. Sophie's quick but Brianna is so crazy that you can't anticipate her next move.
And me, I find myself with an unclenched neck. It's easy to take care of one sick old cat (Boris), especially is he's cooperative and good-natured.
They are pretty demanding when they first see me - food! Give us food!
Something which I myself would enjoy now.
Hm. Scrambled eggs. Now I need a place to hide away, oh I believe in scrambled eggs.
Showing posts with label Sophie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sophie. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Going Along
Appointment with Dr. A. I am tired because I have been crying and because I haven't really had free rein to dribble away. I'm not sure I want that freedom. My back hurts, so I take advantage of the nice recliner I'm sitting in.
Dr. A starts asking questions about money.
I tell her how deeply in debt I am. It's pretty deep.
She asks if I've been taking my meds.
I say not regularly for the last two weeks or so.
Dr. A: You had a headache all last week, didn't you?
Me: Yeah.
Dr. A: Do you realize you could have had seizures?
Me: I have a hard time keeping up with my pill schedule on weekends and this is the first time I've had a paid vacation in a long time. My schedule got out of whack.
Dr. A: Are you back on them?
Me: Oh, yeah.
And I am. Easier to do during the week. With breakfast. At 10 am. At noon. At 2 pm. At bedtime. Must keep Becs medicated.
Dr. A: You like being manic, don't you?
Me: Of course I do. But at least I kept it pretty well within check this time. I mean, there was the harmonica -
Dr. A: Harmonica? What about a harmonica?
Me: (launched into a long rationalization of how I wanted to entertain myself in the dark during Sandy) ...so I bought a (an?) harmonica. I've played one before. And it's cheaper than an acoustic guitar.
Dr. A: An acoustic guitar? But honey, those things cost hundreds of dollars!
Me: I know. That's why I bought a $10 harmonica.
But as Dr. A showed me my many financial sins, I'm thinking of returning everything I have, that I have the receipt for. Empty the car for once. Take out the pretty things and if I have to get store credit, make sure I replace it with something useful, like ice melter or light bulbs.
Oh, here comes the Long Dark.
I'll return the unopened heated mattress pad and will go without. This is my penance for being manic, being cold in bed. (Taylor peed on the old one. Taylor ended up peeing on a lot of things, including me.)
Bad, bad Becs. Crawl into your cold bed (thermostat set permanently at 63F) and on Saturday, don't be surprised if they won't take back the harmonica. But there's plenty else to go back.
I didn't spent a dime today. Had a can of soup for lunch and will take another one tomorrow. Yay, me. Cold me.
It's 4:38 pm EST. I want to feed the cats and maybe find another blanket for the bed. I want to read Mansfield Park until I fall asleep. I've been getting to work at 6:30 am. Things will settle in. They have to. They will.
Meanwhile, Sophie is mewing for her dinner.
Dr. A starts asking questions about money.
I tell her how deeply in debt I am. It's pretty deep.
She asks if I've been taking my meds.
I say not regularly for the last two weeks or so.
Dr. A: You had a headache all last week, didn't you?
Me: Yeah.
Dr. A: Do you realize you could have had seizures?
Me: I have a hard time keeping up with my pill schedule on weekends and this is the first time I've had a paid vacation in a long time. My schedule got out of whack.
Dr. A: Are you back on them?
Me: Oh, yeah.
And I am. Easier to do during the week. With breakfast. At 10 am. At noon. At 2 pm. At bedtime. Must keep Becs medicated.
Dr. A: You like being manic, don't you?
Me: Of course I do. But at least I kept it pretty well within check this time. I mean, there was the harmonica -
Dr. A: Harmonica? What about a harmonica?
Me: (launched into a long rationalization of how I wanted to entertain myself in the dark during Sandy) ...so I bought a (an?) harmonica. I've played one before. And it's cheaper than an acoustic guitar.
Dr. A: An acoustic guitar? But honey, those things cost hundreds of dollars!
Me: I know. That's why I bought a $10 harmonica.
But as Dr. A showed me my many financial sins, I'm thinking of returning everything I have, that I have the receipt for. Empty the car for once. Take out the pretty things and if I have to get store credit, make sure I replace it with something useful, like ice melter or light bulbs.
Oh, here comes the Long Dark.
I'll return the unopened heated mattress pad and will go without. This is my penance for being manic, being cold in bed. (Taylor peed on the old one. Taylor ended up peeing on a lot of things, including me.)
Bad, bad Becs. Crawl into your cold bed (thermostat set permanently at 63F) and on Saturday, don't be surprised if they won't take back the harmonica. But there's plenty else to go back.
I didn't spent a dime today. Had a can of soup for lunch and will take another one tomorrow. Yay, me. Cold me.
It's 4:38 pm EST. I want to feed the cats and maybe find another blanket for the bed. I want to read Mansfield Park until I fall asleep. I've been getting to work at 6:30 am. Things will settle in. They have to. They will.
Meanwhile, Sophie is mewing for her dinner.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
$ophie'$ Choice
Sophie does not get enough coverage in this blog.
She came to me half-wild nine years ago. I was looking for a friend's lost cat but a neighbor showed up at my door with a very fluffy, freaked-out dilute long-haired calico. She's beautiful.
It took a long time to calm her down, but I persisted. I started out by talking to her. Then I pet her and played with her. And now, I can pick her up and tell her 'es she is a booful girl while she purrs and purrs. Sometimes, she'll clamber onto my lap. Most mornings during the coffee ritual, she's on the right arm of the sofa, basking in the lamp light. Sometimes, she'll reach out a feathery paw and put it on my hand.
She is so furry that she even has long, silky fur growing between the pads of her paws.
Amazingly, her fur is more like hair and never gets matted. She might get a little knot of fur in the mane around her neck, but I can easily pluck it off or it just falls off.
Sophie has been having trouble with her mouth and teeth for longer than I care to admit.
I feel guilty as hell about it because I know it's going to be God-awful expensive.
To prove that, I called up the veterinary medical group where Dr. Knightly practices.
"Well," said the receptionist, "We haven't seen her in nine years." Guilty, guilty, oh so guilty. "She needs vaccinations and a senior blood panel. The doctor has to examine her and then he can give you an estimate. Ball park is six to twenty-six."
Six to twenty-six what? Rupees? Pesos? Bhats?
No. Six HUNDRED to TWO THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS.
The last time I took a cat for dental work, the vet who did the work actually performed two root canals. On a cat! Look, you know I love them. But come on. A cat, no matter how much I love him, is still a cat. (Except for Boris and Dylan. And they are special.) I could go to freakin' Paris and have myself quite a fine old time on $2,600.
Once, I knew a woman who was originally from Tennessee and lived not far from me here in Jersey. She would drive her three cats, who were veteran travelers anyway, down to Tennessee to have their medical care done. She was there for other things, of course. She was taking care of her parents and had some financial dealings in the area. But the service there cost about 1/4 of what it costs here.
I called a vet's office closer to me. It didn't give me a lot of hope. They still want to do the vaccinations (of course), the blood panel and office exam. And then they'll give me an estimate. Look, I'm not asking for anything fancy. Why does she even need x-rays? Just sedate her, pull out the bad teeth which are pretty damn obvious, and clean and polish what's left. How hard is that? Why does it cost so much?
Why am I thinking of driving to Delaware to get this done?
Insert here swear word of your choice.
She came to me half-wild nine years ago. I was looking for a friend's lost cat but a neighbor showed up at my door with a very fluffy, freaked-out dilute long-haired calico. She's beautiful.
It took a long time to calm her down, but I persisted. I started out by talking to her. Then I pet her and played with her. And now, I can pick her up and tell her 'es she is a booful girl while she purrs and purrs. Sometimes, she'll clamber onto my lap. Most mornings during the coffee ritual, she's on the right arm of the sofa, basking in the lamp light. Sometimes, she'll reach out a feathery paw and put it on my hand.
She is so furry that she even has long, silky fur growing between the pads of her paws.
Amazingly, her fur is more like hair and never gets matted. She might get a little knot of fur in the mane around her neck, but I can easily pluck it off or it just falls off.
Sophie has been having trouble with her mouth and teeth for longer than I care to admit.
I feel guilty as hell about it because I know it's going to be God-awful expensive.
To prove that, I called up the veterinary medical group where Dr. Knightly practices.
"Well," said the receptionist, "We haven't seen her in nine years." Guilty, guilty, oh so guilty. "She needs vaccinations and a senior blood panel. The doctor has to examine her and then he can give you an estimate. Ball park is six to twenty-six."
Six to twenty-six what? Rupees? Pesos? Bhats?
No. Six HUNDRED to TWO THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS.
The last time I took a cat for dental work, the vet who did the work actually performed two root canals. On a cat! Look, you know I love them. But come on. A cat, no matter how much I love him, is still a cat. (Except for Boris and Dylan. And they are special.) I could go to freakin' Paris and have myself quite a fine old time on $2,600.
Once, I knew a woman who was originally from Tennessee and lived not far from me here in Jersey. She would drive her three cats, who were veteran travelers anyway, down to Tennessee to have their medical care done. She was there for other things, of course. She was taking care of her parents and had some financial dealings in the area. But the service there cost about 1/4 of what it costs here.
I called a vet's office closer to me. It didn't give me a lot of hope. They still want to do the vaccinations (of course), the blood panel and office exam. And then they'll give me an estimate. Look, I'm not asking for anything fancy. Why does she even need x-rays? Just sedate her, pull out the bad teeth which are pretty damn obvious, and clean and polish what's left. How hard is that? Why does it cost so much?
Why am I thinking of driving to Delaware to get this done?
Insert here swear word of your choice.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
The Rearrangement
The rearrangement of cats on various totem poles has begun. Slowly. But it has started.
I'm worried that Brianna and Sophie aren't around much. I can always find Brianna in the basement and she's always happy to be found. Sophie is like a ghost cat. Here, then gone, not to be found in the interim.
Even Taylor seems at loose ends. I think she's busy terrorizing Brianna.
Dylan is a little extra-clingy. Blue has discovered the vacancy.
The one who initially had the hardest time was Boris. Every morning when I sat on the couch, it would be Dylan on my lap, then Gus to the left of me and Boris to the left of him. I've been giving Boris extra attention because he was so sadly lost. But now he's discovered the empty spot where Gussy used to sit and has come closer.
It continues.
And as for me, I still have not realized the full extent of how Gussy ran my life.
I've begun clearing out the many spaces, blankets, special places where Gussy ate to get away from the other cats, however briefly.
It reminds me of recovering from the death of a person who died after a long illness. You don't realize that you have pills, boxes of hypodermics, bottles of medicine, special pillows, special equipment, wash cloths, wipes, blankets that were used to make the patient rest a little easier. You're unsure of how exactly to pack it all away, but you know that you have to.
I'm worried that Brianna and Sophie aren't around much. I can always find Brianna in the basement and she's always happy to be found. Sophie is like a ghost cat. Here, then gone, not to be found in the interim.
Even Taylor seems at loose ends. I think she's busy terrorizing Brianna.
Dylan is a little extra-clingy. Blue has discovered the vacancy.
The one who initially had the hardest time was Boris. Every morning when I sat on the couch, it would be Dylan on my lap, then Gus to the left of me and Boris to the left of him. I've been giving Boris extra attention because he was so sadly lost. But now he's discovered the empty spot where Gussy used to sit and has come closer.
It continues.
And as for me, I still have not realized the full extent of how Gussy ran my life.
I've begun clearing out the many spaces, blankets, special places where Gussy ate to get away from the other cats, however briefly.
It reminds me of recovering from the death of a person who died after a long illness. You don't realize that you have pills, boxes of hypodermics, bottles of medicine, special pillows, special equipment, wash cloths, wipes, blankets that were used to make the patient rest a little easier. You're unsure of how exactly to pack it all away, but you know that you have to.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
The New World Order
I knew Gus was the kingpin and lynch pin of the household, but I didn't truly understand how much.
This morning, the gang is at sixes and sevens.
When I woke up, Taylor was nowhere to be found. She had become a bed cat, centering herself in the exact center of the bed, no matter where I happened to be. Instead, Sophie was on the bed. Boris was in the Big Chair, still making room for Gus. Blue came out of hiding. Brianna showed up from the basement long enough to eat breakfast. And Dylan, of course, was still most emphatically Dylan.
I hadn't realized that Gus was such a talker. The house is oddly quiet. I am not being harried from place to place to do his bidding. It's more of a relief than I thought. And yet, I miss it.
As for me, I am castigating myself for doing it too soon, for making excuses about being at the end of my rope, at dreading the next week or two when I would do nothing but urge Gus to eat and drink, at following him around to wipe off the blood on his nose.
There is no perfect time for any of this.
And the little world that will reassemble itself in my house will be far from perfect, too.
This morning, the gang is at sixes and sevens.
When I woke up, Taylor was nowhere to be found. She had become a bed cat, centering herself in the exact center of the bed, no matter where I happened to be. Instead, Sophie was on the bed. Boris was in the Big Chair, still making room for Gus. Blue came out of hiding. Brianna showed up from the basement long enough to eat breakfast. And Dylan, of course, was still most emphatically Dylan.
I hadn't realized that Gus was such a talker. The house is oddly quiet. I am not being harried from place to place to do his bidding. It's more of a relief than I thought. And yet, I miss it.
As for me, I am castigating myself for doing it too soon, for making excuses about being at the end of my rope, at dreading the next week or two when I would do nothing but urge Gus to eat and drink, at following him around to wipe off the blood on his nose.
There is no perfect time for any of this.
And the little world that will reassemble itself in my house will be far from perfect, too.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The Cats Will Play
Things were in a sorry state for a little bit.
Taylor spent the entire weekend at the vet's. I could have flown to Paris, stayed at a nice little hotel and stuffed myself silly with macarons for what it cost, but, meh. I signed up for this.
I had many chirpy messages from Dr. Knightly. I love her. The cats love her. Every time she left me a message it went along the lines of "Taylor is such a love, but she still feels kind of low. Every time I open her cage, she gives that little chirp and comes to give me head butts."
I took in the fact that I don't think Taylor loves me this much. Possibly, I don't love her as much as Dr. Knightly does. I thought about this. When I went to pick up Taylor, I got all somber and said, "I don't do this lightly. In fact, I've only done it once before in my life [Katy and M the Perfect Roomie, who were made for each other]. But if you think Taylor would be better off with you, if you want her, I will let her go." I hastened to add that of course I would still be responsible for the bill Taylor'd just run up.
Dr. Knightly was a little overwhelmed. Even though I know she has to have heard this hundreds of times before. She said, "My husband would put me out with the recycling if I brought home another cat. I have six as it is." I said I understood. She excused herself for a moment, then came back.
Taylor was presented to me. Oh, she was not a happy camper. I imagine I wouldn't be either, if I'd gone through what she had. Twice.
I worried about her. Yesterday morning, I had to bring her out into the kitchen. She looked at me and wobbled back to bed. Last night, she found me. This morning, she wobbled out on her own. This evening, she met me at the door.
The last couple of evenings, I've spent some time playing with the cats. You should see Gus light up when he sees (through his cataract-y eyes) the feather-on-a-string toy come out. Dylan will kill himself chasing the thing. For his birthday, I think I'm going to give him a bunch of feathers for him to gut.
Brianna emerged from the basement to chase the laser. Blue is on to me. He just blinked up at me. I know you have a laser pointer in your hand, he blinked smugly.
I hear Sophie in the never-ending chase for the ball in a circle.
It'll be Spring soon. Time to wake up.
Taylor spent the entire weekend at the vet's. I could have flown to Paris, stayed at a nice little hotel and stuffed myself silly with macarons for what it cost, but, meh. I signed up for this.
I had many chirpy messages from Dr. Knightly. I love her. The cats love her. Every time she left me a message it went along the lines of "Taylor is such a love, but she still feels kind of low. Every time I open her cage, she gives that little chirp and comes to give me head butts."
I took in the fact that I don't think Taylor loves me this much. Possibly, I don't love her as much as Dr. Knightly does. I thought about this. When I went to pick up Taylor, I got all somber and said, "I don't do this lightly. In fact, I've only done it once before in my life [Katy and M the Perfect Roomie, who were made for each other]. But if you think Taylor would be better off with you, if you want her, I will let her go." I hastened to add that of course I would still be responsible for the bill Taylor'd just run up.
Dr. Knightly was a little overwhelmed. Even though I know she has to have heard this hundreds of times before. She said, "My husband would put me out with the recycling if I brought home another cat. I have six as it is." I said I understood. She excused herself for a moment, then came back.
Taylor was presented to me. Oh, she was not a happy camper. I imagine I wouldn't be either, if I'd gone through what she had. Twice.
I worried about her. Yesterday morning, I had to bring her out into the kitchen. She looked at me and wobbled back to bed. Last night, she found me. This morning, she wobbled out on her own. This evening, she met me at the door.
The last couple of evenings, I've spent some time playing with the cats. You should see Gus light up when he sees (through his cataract-y eyes) the feather-on-a-string toy come out. Dylan will kill himself chasing the thing. For his birthday, I think I'm going to give him a bunch of feathers for him to gut.
Brianna emerged from the basement to chase the laser. Blue is on to me. He just blinked up at me. I know you have a laser pointer in your hand, he blinked smugly.
I hear Sophie in the never-ending chase for the ball in a circle.
It'll be Spring soon. Time to wake up.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Every Day Is Caturday 1
Here's the status of my brood:
- Gus is still with us, which amazes me. He's still getting thinner, though. When I was at BJs, I bought baby food called "Yummy Meals", with which Gus agrees whole-heartedly. He's gotten a lot louder in the mornings and sometimes his yelling sounds...pained. He's decided that he must have a morning cuddle and will yell at me until I pick him up and hold him against me.
- Boris is not only a water-fiend now, but he expects to be brushed while he's up near the sink. Hm. Wonder how that happened? Could it be that I did it once? He's gotten smaller over the past year and his bedraggledness worried me. He still has a good appetite, still meows like a kitten, and still walks on the flat of his feet where most other cats walk on their tip-toes.
- Katy's arthritis bothers her a lot. She has it in her front paws, in her shoulders and elbows. She is the most picked-on cat in my household. Sophie loves to stalk and chase her. Katy lives in MD's old room, either in the closet or on my desk. She is disappointed every time she walks in here and find me and not MD.
- Taylor has made some strides over the last year. I can pick her up without being afraid that she'll tear my face off. She wants desperately to be loved. When I pick her up, her front paws immediately clutch around my neck, she presses her little body as hard as she can against me and meows in my ear. She's my enforcer. If I yell at a cat, Taylor jumps down from me and goes after that cat. Which makes me a lot more reluctant to yell at anyone.
- Phoebe's fat gene is working overtime. She mostly lives on my bed, has no interest in anything but dry food, yet she's nearly spherical. She is beautiful, a mostly-grey tortie, and when I talk to her and say her name, her head always pops up and she makes a "Mrrr?" sound. I love that. She will also give me forehead a bath anytime she's near it.
- Dylan is jealous of everybody who gets near me. He will launch himself to chase any cat that I've just been petting. He still comes to bed with me every night but lately his favorite spot is in my office, next to the electric piano.
- Brianna. Maybe not quite so brainless. She has a perfect nest for herself in the basement, old comforters that she knocked down and shaped into one of the warmest places in the house. If she's not there, she's trying to snuggle up with Gus, who only wants to snuggle up with me.
- Sophie lets me touch her! She lets me pet her! I can even pick her up and hold her (tightly) against me. She lives to chase Katy. Sophie now hops up on the arm of the sofa to get pet. Her fur is so soft, thick, and silky that I have to rub hard to get her to purr.
- Blue is acquiring nicknames at last. Blue-ster. Brewster. The Bluesman. He is huge. If he wasn't such a coward, he could take down all the cats just by sitting on them. He loves to be picked up, but the cat has to weigh over twenty pounds. It takes some forethought to pick up Blue and cuddle him.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Every Day Is Caturday
The cats are in a delirium of joy. I've been home for two whole days and they love it.
Everybody's happy. And why not? I, their slave, am here to do their furry bidding.
Cats. Cats. More cats.
When I wake up, I'm usually surrounded by Phoebe, Gus, Dylan, Katy, with Taylor bitching somewhere on the side. When I get out of bed, I'm followed by Sophie and led by Gus.
Sitting here at my desk, playing video games, Blue came in and pawed at me until I picked him up. He sat on my chest, all 25+ lbs of him, and started to do a blissful little kneading dance. Then, drooling, he collapsed on me, paws still going back and forth. I put him down. He got back up. I put him down. He got back up again.
Boris stood at the kitchen sink, meowing to be picked up and for me to turn the faucet on. When he didn't quit meowing and head-butting me, I got the brush and began grooming him.
Even Sophie is coming around. I just heard her in the living room, on the loving seat, meowing so I would come pet her.
I think we're all in for a rude shock come Monday morning.
Everybody's happy. And why not? I, their slave, am here to do their furry bidding.
Cats. Cats. More cats.
When I wake up, I'm usually surrounded by Phoebe, Gus, Dylan, Katy, with Taylor bitching somewhere on the side. When I get out of bed, I'm followed by Sophie and led by Gus.
Sitting here at my desk, playing video games, Blue came in and pawed at me until I picked him up. He sat on my chest, all 25+ lbs of him, and started to do a blissful little kneading dance. Then, drooling, he collapsed on me, paws still going back and forth. I put him down. He got back up. I put him down. He got back up again.
Boris stood at the kitchen sink, meowing to be picked up and for me to turn the faucet on. When he didn't quit meowing and head-butting me, I got the brush and began grooming him.
Even Sophie is coming around. I just heard her in the living room, on the loving seat, meowing so I would come pet her.
I think we're all in for a rude shock come Monday morning.
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Geriatric Ward
Mo has suddenly gotten old. Very old, almost overnight. He has an old cat's body now. He's lost a lot of weight. His fur is rumpled and dry-looking.
His eyes were watering badly. I felt guilty for not finishing up the antibiotics prescribed for him. I mixed up the rest of the batch and gave him a dose last night and this morning. This evening, he seems the better for it.
But he is still an old man. I hate to see this happen, but it's inevitable.
This morning, I heard a strangled little meow and went in search of it. I found Boris in the litter box, hunched up, looking miserable. Poor Boris. Plugged up again.
My fridge looks like I could run a vet clinic from it. I found the syrup to dose Boris (it's worked twice so far) and he was not pleased.
Gus has taken to following me around. I think he misses Gracie, who was cuddled up with him and Mo almost every morning.
The cats are changing and the dynamic is changing.
Phoebe is coming around for affection. This morning when I woke up, she was at my side. And just below her, to my astonishment, was Sophie.
Katy rarely ventures out of my study. There's a comfy bed on the desk and that's where she's spending most of her days. I realized that Katy's probably close to eleven.
Butch is a loose cannon these days. After eight years of sitting on the kitchen table or the top of the little china cabinet, he can spring up anywhere these days and frequently does.
This morning when I ran down to the basement to fetch something, I spotted Dylan on the basement floor, behind a box. This is nothing like my showman cat.
Things are changing. They always do.
His eyes were watering badly. I felt guilty for not finishing up the antibiotics prescribed for him. I mixed up the rest of the batch and gave him a dose last night and this morning. This evening, he seems the better for it.
But he is still an old man. I hate to see this happen, but it's inevitable.
This morning, I heard a strangled little meow and went in search of it. I found Boris in the litter box, hunched up, looking miserable. Poor Boris. Plugged up again.
My fridge looks like I could run a vet clinic from it. I found the syrup to dose Boris (it's worked twice so far) and he was not pleased.
Gus has taken to following me around. I think he misses Gracie, who was cuddled up with him and Mo almost every morning.
The cats are changing and the dynamic is changing.
Phoebe is coming around for affection. This morning when I woke up, she was at my side. And just below her, to my astonishment, was Sophie.
Katy rarely ventures out of my study. There's a comfy bed on the desk and that's where she's spending most of her days. I realized that Katy's probably close to eleven.
Butch is a loose cannon these days. After eight years of sitting on the kitchen table or the top of the little china cabinet, he can spring up anywhere these days and frequently does.
This morning when I ran down to the basement to fetch something, I spotted Dylan on the basement floor, behind a box. This is nothing like my showman cat.
Things are changing. They always do.
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