Monday, February 20, 2012

Monday Morning Cat Blogging

The Fire Direction Center's little calico, Miss Lily, is somewhere between 15 and 16 years old. According to our cat medico that's "geriatric but not ancient" in cat-years.

And overall she seems to be doing well for an old moggie; she's fairly sound of wind and limb, her appetite is good and she seems to be compos mentis, which if you've ever had a senile cat is a blessing. Imagine the stereotypical cranky, gooned-out human and add a full set of teeth and claws and a proclivity for random excretion and you've got a real household nightmare.

She has lost a bit off her vertical jump; it's kind of sad watching her claw her way up on the bed to reach her favorite sleeping spot. And perhaps the single thing she feels the most now that she's made old bones is the cold. Which is why I snapped this picture of her sprawled right on top of the heat register; she craves warmth and spends much of the time she isn't eating directly atop these things, dreaming that she is stretched out on a mossy limb deep in the steaming jungles of Central America, awaiting an unwary tapir to pass beneath her so that she might drop on it with ruthless tooth in gory jaw.Yeah, she thinks, that would be cool.

(apologies to Charles Pierce)


Lisa said...

(Pls. don't think me a lightweight for commenting here before the battle; I'm saving that reading for tonight)

Yes, the older kitties crave warmth. Heating pads are nice, too. Heck, I love warmth, as well :)

I'm glad she can still claw her way up, kind of like rock-climbing. I'm sure she is enjoying many reveries as the heat warms her stiff joints and she remembers the thrill of the hunt.

FDChief said...

The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;

but he free, maybe,
walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
and tender men.

The giant lion with iron
claw in paw,
and huge ruthless tooth
in gory jaw;
the pard dark-starred,
fleet upon feet,
that oft soft from aloft
leaps upon his meat
where woods loom in gloom --

far now they be,
fierce and free,
and tamed is he;
but fat cat on the mat
kept as a pet
he does not forget.

~JRR Tolkien

Lisa said...

Oh, how lyrical -- that brought a smile! I think cats are very close to their racial unconscious and each thinks himself a sabre-tooth.

I sometimes think they pity us our hairless bodies and flat claws. I once had a cat who loved nestling in my hair, as if to celebrate that one part of me not afflicted by mange (in her reckoning).