Folks, my 18-year-old cat, whose name is Hope, just demonstrated that she’s not old yet.
She was poking at a “magic wand” toy, which should have a feather on the end of a flexible stick. Hers has no feather, but I saw this, and waved the featherless wand before her. She happily batted at it, pounced on it, gnawed at it; and gave it up, ready to play the game again. Which we did, a few times.
This would not be anything special, except Hope is 18 years old (that’s about 88 in human years), and demonstrated that she can still play like a kitten. I was happy to see her energy. She left the game to get a drink of water, and to take a nap.
I have a ways to go before I’m 88, but I hope that I have as much energy at that age as Hope demonstrated today.
Yes, some cats are ageless. My Vienna will be 15 (78) in a few months, even older than I am. She still plays with her toys like a kitten, and sometimes runs around the house like a crazy person.
Our guy is a little arthritic (discovered while the vet was investigating lumps in his legpits) but otherwise very healthy. He is 16, which is apparently 80 in human years. The lumps turned out to be a reaction to fleas that he seemed to get when we moved house last year.
This is not the best photo, but it captures his kittenish personality. Most of my photos of him are while he’s asleep, because that’s the easiest time to get him. (Click for uncropped pic.)
We had a cat when I was a child who made it well into her 20’s. (We weren’t sure of her exact age – my parents traced her back to the people who sold the place to the people we bought the place from, but couldn’t get a birth year pinned down.) A small cat, but she was clearly in charge of the household.
I remember visitors coming over once; Boots was playing with a dining room table leg. ‘When did you get the new grey kitten?’ ‘Um, that’s Boots. We think she’s about 18.’
I had another cat whose age was also uncertain – he showed up at my neighbors’ one day – but who was certainly over 20. In the last year of his life, several months before he died, he caught a mouse. Very very happy purring cat ate every bite of it.
Shortly before our old, arthritic cat with her paralyzed tail died, she finally managed to catch a chipmunk. A real live healthy chipmunk. I think she cornered and outsmarted it.
She brought it up to the door and meowed to be let it. She wanted to show it off to the other cats like she used to do when she was younger (“I have a chipmunk! And you don’t!”), but we wouldn’t let her. If she put it down, it’d run off into the house and possibly wedge itself someplace inaccessible. She was sorely disappointed.
She continued playing, batting at fluffy balls thrown at her, until the day she died.
I try to play with Boris (17) every day. He doesn’t run after toys or jump as high but he will get up on his hind legs and try to kill that feather on a stick. In fact, if I leave it on the floor, he will pick it up and drop it to get my attention. I just wish he ate better. I am constantly worrying that he doesn’t eat much although his weight was stable at the last check.
I was inspired by this thread to see if my 20-year-old would still pounce on something, like a belt or string, if I drag it along the ground in front of her.
We adopted our current mostly-dachshund at 10 and a half. We thought he was an oldster who was beyond toys, but our vet occasionally includes a toy in our prescription shipments. The first time we got one with Max, he pounced on it and played with it for a good while. Well, whaddaya know? It was a hard braided rope toy though which wasn’t a good match with his semi lack of teeth. So, we got him a few squeaky soft toys, and while he doesn’t play with them all the time, he does occasionally. And he always makes sure to corral them if they get a bit far flung.
My Nikki is at least 12, and is definitely a Phat Olde Pharte, but she still enjoys a good game of “kill the wiggly string.” I have mate-less shoelaces and a leather string from a long-defunct bodice that are prime targets.
Owning two snakes, and wanting to occasionally enjoy their company without them being harmed … it gets, ah, complicated. Cuz that’s not when I wanna play the “Kill The Wiggle String” game.
Our Heidi made it to 22-24 (we adopted her as a young adult, so we’re not quite sure), and was friendly (well, as friendly as she ever was; even in her youth she had a bit of an old fussbudget personality) right up to the end.
Sassy lived to be 17, and until the very end she was able to jump up onto the back of the couch from the floor. Sure, a bit clumsily the last year or two, but I’d like to see a human octogenarian so spry.
