My Kitters

I performed my annual act of betrayal against Midnight yesterday. I took her to the V-E-T to get her shots and license. The V-E-T told me things I didn’t really want to hear. She said that Midnight has a heart murmur, bad teeth, her kidneys still aren’t in the greatest condition, and she’s lost a little weight since last year. But she’s 17 years old, so I’m grateful that it wasn’t worse news. That didn’t stop me from being a little bummed out though on the car ride home as I thought about the inevitable.

Thankfully, Midnight is still frisky, and we still follow our daily routine—including lots of ruvvin’ (“loving” for those who don’t speak cat-ese). She still chases anything that moves (including rubber bands, see photo), eats people food, drinks out of my cup when I’m not looking, sleeps on the back of my legs at night, and she still gets the midnight-crazies. I don’t know if all cats get the midnight-crazies (during which a cat seems to revert to its natural wildness and consequently runs back and forth throughout the house like she’s gone mad), but I’m sort of still glad that Midnight gets them because it makes it seem like not much has changed.

She could live for several more years or one of her many ailments could catch up with her much sooner. Nobody knows. For those who don’t have pets, I know it sounds crazy to be so attached to an animal and there’s nothing I can say that will accurately portray my affection toward my own pet, but any time you’ve had a living being as part of your normal routine for such a long time, it’s nearly impossible to not get attached. But it hardly seems like it’s been 17 years. I can still remember snapping this photo of her a day or two after I got her.

So there you have it. I’m attached big time to a six pound four ounce lovable little fur-ball. I’m not even going to try to figure out or guess how much time she has left. Instead, I’m just going to continue to enjoy the many daily routines we have shared for nearly two decades for as long as possible.