I suppose that it’s always the case, when adopting elderly animals, that one has a secret wild hope that under one’s care they will become younger and stronger again, and possibly live forever.
I know I’ve kept saying to everyone, ‘Of course I may not have them long, they’re so old and rather frail, every day is a bonus,’ and all those things you do say.
Also, it’s quite true that things are better than they were during the rather frantic settling-in period when nobody knew the difference between a cat-bed and a litter-tray, and no-one was allowed out.
But within that truth there is a harder one to learn to live with, still hard even though I’ve been through it many times; they are very old, and things like digestive upsets are going to be a large part of life from now on. That’s what I’ve signed up for. My head tells me that and I believe it. But every time any one of them is ill, it’s just as distressing as if my head had never said anything to me at all.
What makes it all worthwhile is the cuddles and seeing them sleep so very comfortably in what have now become ‘their’ places. Mystic jumping on the bed in the morning to stand up beside me and kiss my hair; Fluff in the morning washing my fingers; Felix beginning to settle down peacefully on my lap without such a long period of sitting at attention and checking it’s OK. Simple pleasures, great rewards.