Friday, December 02, 2011
In the morning, after I stepped over her, I'd say "You are a good cat."
She'd say something that I interpreted as "the service is awful slow around here. Can't you learn I need my food set out by this time?"
We had that kind of relationship. She seemed never confident that she'd gotten me properly trained.
In the last few years, she became willing to share her body heat a little, to allow a little fur patting (but never brushing), to sit on a lap if you occupied just the right chair and held your legs at just the proper angle.
Last May a vet said she had a week to live. Out of sheer orneriness she slogged on for nearly six months. But when she could no longer walk and stopped eating, it was her time to go.
She worked to teach me that it is a privilege to offer hospitality to a cat, to an animal never quite domesticated, however apparently dependent. I hope she felt I'd begun to get it.