I grew up with dogs as pets,
and not cats, so my opinion
may be quite skewed;
but we had a cat for eight years,
until a few months ago,
when we gifted her to friends
who had both another cat
and much more time
and territory for her to roam.
Gracie was a loving cat,
as far as cat love goes.
She could sit, when she decided
it was time, and demand preening,
purring to no end, so long as
her itch was being appropriately scratched.
Here's what I've been thinking
about for a few years now:
The middle part of life, which,
for most of us makes up
about 80-90% of the years,
is the time when we mostly
live like cats: predatory and
self-sufficient in so many ways,
with disdain, if not fear, toward
any vulnerability or relinquishment.
It is at either end of life,
as infants or the infirmed,
that we find innocence, courage,
and/or acquiesce to become
transformed into mostly-trusting canines
capable of loving and being loved
in ways so far beyond
our middle-years feline tendencies.
© 2013 Todd Jenkins