Pebble Number Five: Cats are like heroin

photo-50             January 5, 2014

The crackle purr of my cat while she sits on m lap is like heroin in my veins. I melt in the stillness of her presence. She kneads my leg, pulsing arthritic paws rhythmically across the furry blanket that covers my legs. I imagine she dreams of the mother who gave birth to her in the hollow of the dead tree on new years day in 1999. Her belly meant warmth, comfort, and love. I am that mother to her now, though she’s a 96-year-old lady. Her hip bones protrude through scraggly hair that is worn from too many days curled up on a heating pad trying to stave off the pain of living. She could just stay on the heating pad and let the cloth-covered electric glow bring soothing dreams of bliss, but she never does this. As soon as I sit she perks up  and stretches limbs that are never limber. Then she cowboy walks over to me like she’s ridden one too many horses. She imagines the jump five times before acting, her paws flinching with rehearsal before making the leap. These daily bounds into my lap are a part of her being alive. Each bound means love, warmth, and another moment to live in soft dreams.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s