this morning and outside the windows the water is already starting to fall off the roof. It’s March and slowly the sidewalks are clearing and the grass is emerging. In a few weeks we’ll see what winter has left on the lawn.
On the couch beside me is the oldest of my cats, curled in a ball and sleeping as I click away on the computer. It’s my late day and so I don’t have to be into work until 11 or so. Time to write. Time to ponder. Time to clear the Christmas decorations frozen into the front yard. It is March after all.
Old cats have a look to them. Their fur gets raspy. They skinny down. The kitten energy and the sleek muscularity of a tom in its prime begins to fade away. They look at you with different eyes. It’s as it should be now, he’s 13 anyways and that makes him an old cat.
The decline is the part about old cats and people that I like the least. I see the grace and beauty of time that eyes can reveal. I like the stories, the memories, the charm. I enjoy the long quiet pauses. There will be more lap time with cats and sitting in worn chairs with people. I just don’t like the decline.
Yet its the way things are for now. Everything, everyone, gets old. I’m on my way as well and if my hair were long enough it would be flecked with gray. Each day, for cats and people, the end gets closer and I’m not afraid of the endings so much as I wish I was wise enough to recognize, cherish, and store everything good and worthwhile as what I think is life swirls around me.
Lord, teach us to number our days…
The Beautiful Path 
It sounded like something from” Chicken Soup for the Soul”. John that means you should submit these obsevation thoughts for publication. It gave me the warm fuzzies reading it. Thank you it made my day.
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