One Step at a Time

One of our cats, Patch, is a tiny thing -- maybe six to seven pounds. Because she's so small, people often mistake her for a kitten.

But the truth is that she's far from kittenish: She's sixteen and a half, and recently, she has been showing her age. She sleeps more, eats and drinks less, and, most noticeably, has been a bit wary of making the graceful leaps onto the high and forbidden places that made her such a cute nuisance in her youth -- places like counter tops, vanities (She has a rather repulsive fascination with the faucet. I call it "repulsive" because we, too, have to drink from said faucet.), bookcases, refrigerator tops, and cabinet tops.

One especially notable place to which Patch now has trouble ascending is our bed. Preferring to spread as much fur as possible on Eric and me, she delights in crashing out on the bed most of the time. The problem is, "crashing" has become the operative word lately.

Sometimes, she just can't quite make the jump from the floor to the bed. And so she crashes back onto the floor. While this might be funny to view while you're sitting against the headboard and can see two little ears repeatedly poking up and down from the end of the bed, it isn't funny when you realize that it's a significant sign of how much she is aging.

In order to help Patch out, we purchased "pet stairs." You know what I'm talking about, right? Those faux-fleece little steps designed to make it easier for your pets to go where they're technically not even supposed to go. Yep, we bought those stairs and placed them at the foot of the bed, where the wee one could use them to ascend to her throne.

Despite training, however, the damned cat refuses to use the stairs. She'd rather do it on her own, thankyouverymuch, crashes be damned.

I can understand now why people often say that their pets are their "familiars." Because it sure seems as if that stubborn, aid-refusing cat is a lot like her owner. Only, her owner has the added benefit of a much larger brain; thus, for the owner, the adjective "stupid" should be added to that list of characteristics. 

In my defense, however, I have to admit that these days, I am much more comfortable accepting help and making concessions to/for my RA. Have to move the couch to put up the Christmas tree? Eric will do it. Can't open some stupid plastic packaging designed to outlast even a nuclear detonation? Eric can do it. Can't lift a ton of groceries? Eric can do that, too.

Of course, there are times when I go all pig-headed, do something I shouldn't, and then am sorry for it later.

But gradually, unlike Patch, I am learning to use the stairs.

I hope you are, too.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!!

Comments

[Wren]

Delightful post -- and so true. We all try very hard not to give up doing the things we've done forever without even thinking about it. But ... eventually we learn.

Your wee Patch sounds like a love. Here's wishing you, Eric and Patch a lovely Thanksgiving, full of good food, friends, family and love.

[Kim H]

And a Happy Thanksgiving to you! I'm sure Eric and I will have an awesome T-giving Day: We're headed to our local pub for their spread! LOL!

[amanda]

So true, so true. Have a wonder Thanksgiving!

[Pollyanna Penguin]

I can identify with this word for word - cat and owner!! (Not that cats have owners of course!) We had a little ginger cat who went through the same sorts of issues and also refused aid most of the time - although I sometimes think she had a bigger brain then her person! ;o)