Mama just noticed that this blog is number 80! Well, that’s not many compared to French-Word-A-Day or many other blogs out there, but she’s happy, so I’m happy.
She said to me this morning, “Wow, almost my age!” but she is nowhere near 80 and even if she were, she would be happy to be there. Hey, better than the alternative, right?
For kitties who live fewer years than an anthro’s life span, thinking about age is moot (I love that word, too, MOOT, MOOT, MOOT—don’t you just want to say it over and over?) But humans seem to be obsessed with aging, or rather, staying young all their exercised, no-fat, carrot stick lives, and mama, even though she goes to a great exercise class with wonderfully young women (ranging from their thirties to eighties!), and even though she and papa eat very sensibly—-lots and lots of vegetables and fruit and very little meat and lots of fish and pasta and rice and such (don’t forget the vino, which is very good for your well-being, believe you me), does not get too preoccupied about youth when she is sane.
“I don’t want to miss the wisdom of my old age,” she says to me, gazing at my youthful little puss with no bags under the eyes and no wrinkles and no blotchy possibly sun-damaged fur, and she’s right. When your body starts losing a little of this and a little of that (and that includes those cells upstairs…unfortunately), it also starts gaining a lot of this and a lot of that! As in sense. As in compassion. As in empathy for others who may be less fortunate in their aging. As in the realization that if someone came to the door right now and offered mama 50,000 euros (or boxes of Purina Sensations!), she would laugh and shut the door. With the person with the offer on the outside, that is.
So I’m not gonna think too much about those little grey hairs I have in my eyebrows and all through the fur on my little bowed legs and that one splotch down the back (where DID it come from?). I am only two or two and a half years old, for heaven’s sake, and I have a lot more fish to fry, so to speak.
Mama, she looks in the mirror each morning and says, “Well, not too bad,” and she sees papa sitting at the breakfast table and to me, she drops about 10 years right there!
In my opinion, âge n’existe pas dans cette maison—age does not exist in this house.
But I am watching those grey hairs, with interest…
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