Threads like this about a beloved pet don’t usually end well. They are usually announcing sickness, or hurt, or death of the animal.
But this is a different thread. I want to praise my 17-year-old cat, Flaherty. She is in good health, if a little stiff when she walks after a long nap. She is long and sleek and her fur is all white.
And she loves me.
She sits unobtrusive at my side as I eat. She will take a morsel if offered. But she sits so quietly, I sometimes forget she is there. Sometimes she gets nothing from my plate.
But she loves me.
She lays at my side on the couch as I watch TV. She lays, drifting off to sleep as she purrs, her thin paw just touching my leg. Sometimes, watching TV, I forget she is there, and will shift a heavy leg across her body, waking her roughly.
But she loves me.
I’ve only had her for four years of her seventeen. I don’t know if she remembers the woman who cared for her before, and loved her very much. I’m sure animals remember much more than humans credit them. I’m the person for which she was taken out of her old home, and given to, without anyone asking her if she wanted it that way.
But she loves me.
Last year, I took in a kitten, little and cute. The kitten played aggressively, and jumped on Flaherty often, pulling her down. Now the kitten is a young cat, and believes she is in charge. But Flaherty is nice to Tippy.
And Flaherty loves me.
I’m going through a hard time now, being a full-time worker and part-time caretaker for my mom. I often yell bad words and cry.
And Flaherty still loves me, and sits, and lays next to me, and purrs.
I had to put this down while she’s still here. So I can see to type without tears, and I can smile.
Because I love her.
