Lately before bed, the human straps long things onto her big mitts. She is not as sparky as usual, and if you’ve noticed, hasn’t been writing my blog. Every morning, I expect breakfast and wake her up. Usually, I jab her with a paw, flick the end of my tail or stick my backside in her face, but now I get no response, so I just wait for her to get up. When my belly rumbles, I stand on her chest and finally, she gets up.
When I’m not well, the human grabs me, stuffs me into that cage and takes me to see Dr Hindmarsh—not my favourite human. Maybe, she needs to see him.
I’ve tried cheering her up. The other night I was sitting outside on the window sill. I miaowed and she came running and opened the front door. Reaching out, I swiped her arm, then took off. Instead of chasing me, she yelled.
The human snoozes a lot more watching the noisy box at night. Noodle, the moggie down the road told me that like us, humans get old too. The human doesn’t race around like a kitten anymore, but I guess she has a few more years in her. She is still loud and annoying. I could be less demanding, but that’s not going to happen as I’m ‘top’ cat. She thinks I being affectionate when I sprawl out on her lap and purr, but really, her belly is squishy and comfy.