Everything Back To Normal
Dec 26th, 2007 by Eats Wombats
And so it is the day after.
Christmas has been and gone, as has the prodigal son. He brought a puppy. It peed, of course, but mostly on the newspaper put down for it, and stole slippers, and tried to dig to China under the table, and looked altogether pixilited with himself when allowed to watch televison on the bed between two people; but did no lasting damage. I’d forgotten what readers of faces dogs are, sensitive to the slightest movement of an eyebrow. He was like a new in-law, wanting to be on his best behaviour but occasionally carried away. Very much the dog for whom the Dastardly Book for Dogs was written.
The poor old cat seems to have decided this will be his 17th and last Christmas. He suddenly became unsteady on his legs a couple of days ago, then he decided that the dog’s cage was his and moved in. The puppy was cuffed for daring to put his nose in, and he kept away entirely.
The cat has been a triumph of will for a long time, but time has caught up with him, this time for good I think. We thought it before but he recovered enough to stalk anyone in bed with a bacon sandwich. Now it seems his job is done. He slept on my side of the bed for a couple of years when I was not here. Now the boy who chose him from the refuge before leaving home has returned, briefly, happily. Things have come in a circle of sorts.
It’s just him and me today, listening to Moby–or not in his case, since he has seemed deaf as a post for a long time. It would kind if he could slip away without too prolonged an exit. All his atoms were forged in a star too. There’s some cosmic life force left, not going quietly, judging by the puncture wounds he managed to inflict when being hand fed morsels of turkey. He purrs still and seems content. The dog has been seen off and tomorrow everything will be back to normal.
Of course, it won’t be.
The hard bit is yet to come–the discussion about a replacement. I’m going to have my arm twisted I know.
