Day off yesterday, at least from the internet. I’d like to claim I was writing industriously all day but in fact I did cleaning in the morning and visited an elderly cousin in the afternoon. Then of course cuddled cats most of the evening.
Sometime in the last twenty-four hours I’ve realised that all this settling down and relaxing on the part of the cats has lulled me into a false assumption; that we are reaching a sort of plateau and everything will be fine for years now.
Except of course that there may not be ‘years’ to come, since these are old cats and I knew that when I asked them to come and live with me.
Since my first conscious decision in 2014 to adopt elderly cats in preference to younger ones, my record is; four months for Colin, sixteen months for Jerry. Jerry was eighteen years, eleven months and three weeks old at his death, and so Mystic is already approaching that age. The other two have a couple of years on him, but who’s to say what will happen when it hasn’t happened yet?
I’m not arguing myself into going back to adopting younger cats next time, a lot would depend on who was house-hunting at that point.
I’m just reflecting that at times, however determined I am, I feel a little daunted in the face of the facts. Yes, they are currently well and happy. Yes they are a blessing to me. But the only way forward is to acknowledge the statistically higher risk of suddenly losing one of them at any time. And it’s no good trying to stay detached, these are cats after all and cats start the business of planting pawprints on your heart the day they arrive in the house.
One day at a time. And lots of cuddles.