The following and all of the other episodes to come are snapshots of what goes on in my head, now and in the past. There are times none of this will make sense. There will be times when I might get lucky and the blog I post will be well constructed and will flow like a mountain stream to an awaiting lake below. Other times it will seem like the ramblings of a madman and you’ll ask yourself, “What the……?”
You should probably get used to the latter.
EPISODE ONE HUNDRED NINETY EIGHT: SHE IS A MEASUREMENT OF TIME
It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important. – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince.
I have talked a lot about time in my past blog posts. I thought I had talked about all of the themes that are linked to time.
Until a certain kitten came into my life not long ago…
My wife and I decided that when we finally moved from our condo into a house, we would get another cat. I had wanted another little girl kitten since our little Trinity died a few years ago. I felt there was too much of the male persuasion in the confines of our lives and I wanted to balance it out.
Plus, since I’m being honest, the sole cat of the house, had not taken to me like he had my wife. It sort of broke my heart.
We finally moved and once we got things pretty well sorted away, I started to look for a little girl kitten to adopt.
Before you start arguing, complaining, and wondering why I didn’t try to find a senior cat, let me explain… I wouldn’t be able to bear it. People who foster or adopt senior cats or special-needs cats are the most wonderful of people and deserve our hearts and applause. I just prefer that I get to have this new four-legged family member for as long as possible (which is sort of the point of this blog post).
Now, back to it.
I found on a website some kittens that were up for adoption. These kittens had been saved from people who couldn’t take care of them and they had no place to go.
And there, I saw… this face…
It was love at first sight. Instant.
I mean… how could it not? Look at her!!!
So, we made the call to see if she was still there to be adopted. She was. And a nice lady brought her to the house (due to COVID), we wore our masks and met this little girl in the flesh… or fur, if you will.
Smitten. I was smitten.
The first thing I did was change her name from Ophelia (it’s alright if you’re a Shakespeare fan) to something a little more in the nerdom.
She looks like a smart, desert, scavenger. With the potential to change the galaxy.
Or, at least, my world.
And… she did. She took to me. And one of the sweetest cats I have ever got the pleasure to share my life with. At this very moment, she is propped against my leg as I type, contently snuggled against me as she dreams her kitty dreams. When she comes to me, she is in full purr mode. And when I’m not around, she looks for me… when she isn’t playing with her new older brother, Watson, the other feline to prowl the house (the one that I had hoped would attach himself to be but instead decided he loved my wife more. I get it, don’t get me wrong) or deciding if her much older brother, Louis, our eleven-year-old boxer, would decide to eat her (he won’t, he wants to just love her and play with her).
She has become my cat…
It was on a moment like this, when she was next to me, stretched out against my leg when I had this thought:
She is a measurement of time.
I have lost animals in my life. Too many to talk about. Some of them I have talked about in these blog posts. All of them have had a beginning moment in my life… and an end. The moment she was brought into our home in a cat carrier, a particular clock started. Its hands (or sand) started to run. And the only way they stop is if she passes away.
Or I do.
I try not to think about the average life of a cat. I don’t want to be reminded on how long and short it will be. One of my cats’ Sphinx, lived to be almost twenty. The cat that I measure all others by, CJ, only lived to be just over eleven. You never know how long certain ‘clocks’ will run.
I look down and see Rey and think about what she might be like in a year from now. Or two. Or eleven. Or maybe twenty. I think about her in my life when it’s Halloween and Christmas (though she has no concept of those things). I think about the possible times I might be angry with her (it’s hard to imagine that as she purrs next to me, her paw draped over my hairy leg) or when she might be angry with me.
And I think about all the great moments that we will share.
At least, I hope.
And then, if I continue to live, there will be a day when she no longer pads across the wood floor, eats from her bowl, or purrs when she sees me.
She will be no more.
One more clock that stops…
And I will go on with her in my heart, her memories of things we did together, the naps we took together, the times she made me smile with her purrs and head bumps when I felt down and low.
But… I don’t want to think about it.
She is just over three months old (as of this writing) and, God willing, a long life to spend with us, to spend with me. And I’m going to be thankful for every moment of it.
And then I wonder…
Is she a measurement of time for me… or am I a measurement of time for her?
Honestly, as long as it’s a long measurement, and we fill the days with purrs, pets, head bumps, and a few naps, it’ll be just fine…
-Loyd Elmore Jr
May 21st, 2020
I’ve decided to keep a blog about how I’m dealing with depression. I’m going to consider this a form of therapy. It might not help anybody else but it might help me.