And he’s sitting in my lap, purring of course, as I write this.
Another episode in Bob’s 29 Lives. Last night he had a seizure. Completely out of the blue; he’s never had one before. I was holding his legs, crying my head off, until his body calmed down and he stumbled away. I knew that this was It. He was too frail to survive a seizure. He staggered around looking disoriented for a few minutes, then, not five minutes after the seizure started, he was in my arms, purring, like nothing had happened. Not dead. He spent the entire night on my chest. I woke up a lot, and I swear, every time I woke up, he was awake, looking at me, purring.
This morning he looked very sick, and just wanted to sleep on our bed, so I shut him in there while I went to work. Coming home, I prepared myself to find him dead. When I pulled into the driveway, Mo had arrived home before me, and there was Bob, sitting on the gravel in the sun, watching me pull in. He came over and greeted me at my car, as he always does, with his signature smile and purr.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve said goodbye to my old Texas cat. It’s like a slow winding-his-way toward the end. It’s exhausting, but it’s giving me time to get ready, in a way. My dear neighbors’ sweet family dog slipped out the door and was killed by a car today. Sometimes they are taken so quickly it’s like you can see an echo of them still, a blur of color, where they surely still must be, sitting by your side.