worrying about Luke

Ok, I know I write too much about our creatures. But we love them so.

Maggie, the parakeet is listening to classical music right now--her favorite thing. We switched from WNPR to WSHU because the talk agitates her--and us too--I'm much calmer with Mozart and Bach than with endless political talk.

God knows what Bela, the Puli is up to. Tonight he grabbed one of Bern's socks from where she'd dropped it in the bedroom, took it to the TV room, shook it at her and ran, making her chase him to get it back. Then, just now, in the dark, he went off into the back yard and wouldn't come when I called him, making me search for the flashlight (he's so black--as black as midnight in a cypress swamp--that I can't see him in the dark) but then he came to the kitchen door and barked.

Luke, our cat, is, I now know, 13 years old. I know that because I asked Bern (linear time being a confounding thing to me) and she told me we got him when Mimi was 22 and now Mimi is 34 and (wonderful) and Luke wasn't a kitten but half grown when we found him at MEOW, a cat rescue place, so he's probably 13.

I've probably mentioned my affection for Lukey, not being naturally a cat person though we've had a lot of them over the years. I sleep later (except on Sundays) than Bern, so she lets him into our bedroom when she gets up and he curls up around my head. I wake up with a Maine Coon Cat on my head and a Puli against my legs. Not a bad way to wake up, by the way. Astonishing, actually. So I rub them both for a while before getting out of bed and going to the bathroom where I first draw Luke a glass of water before doing the other things people do in the  morning in the bathroom.

He drinks a great deal of water, which worries me, since many cats die of kidney disease. He hasn't been to a vet since MEOW had him. He's been an indoor cat and never sick. But now that I know he's 13, instead of 10 or 15, which were my two guesses being unstuck in linear time, I'm concerned.

I'd like to always wake up with a yellow Coon Cat around draped around my head. Maybe, if God is in his heaven, the afterlife will involve a yellow cat around your head in some way. I'd appreciate that kind of Eternity.

So now, I know, I'll start noticing even more how much water he drinks and checking that his nose is pink and that he seems energetic (he still is because when I came down the hallway to my little office to write this, Luke raced ahead of me, jumped up on the banister to the back stairs and laid on the table beside the table where my PC is for a while, rolling and showing me his belly.

The older I get, one of things I don't understand even less than I did, was how people without critters get along. Dogs and cats and birds, I know, intellectually, aren't everyone's cup of tea. But I love them so. I really do. They teach me so much about dependance and joy and love....

We once had a cat who lived to be 23. I hope Luke does and I hope, if he does, I'll still be spry enough to bury him beside our deck, with generations of creatures, with dignity....That would be good, I think....I believe....I know....