Cats Don't Tell Time Or Worry

It's almost February; by the time you read this, it will be. Time speeds up as we age. By the time it's winter, it's almost spring again. We're busy making the rounds of doctors, reading newspapers, shopping, and cooking. No sooner do I wake, then I'm feeding the cats, and making dinner. Jaynee's day is different because she's a night owl. I get my errands done before she wakes and then I spend as much of the day with her as possible. It seems we are buying cat food all the time; our cats should be the size of leopards the way they eat. Our four eat what the vet recommended and lay around in the windows and occasionally wrestling. We feed Tiger, a cat abandoned by his owners years ago, and apparently, at least one other cat who hits Tiger's food on our deck. Cats don't consider time; to them, it doesn't exist.

Phone calls to them are an annoyance; to me, phone calls are torture. I used to spend my mornings making whatever calls were necessary. Now, my hearing almost gone entirely, I struggle to read the computer's translation of what is being said by the person I'm calling. People talk too fast and don't have patience. I'm so frustrated just trying. Jaynee is taking over my calls. I worry about times she won't be here, for instance when she goes out west to visit her brother. I dread that time. It's expensive and there's so much work to be done here, i.e. kitty litter and phone calls. Jaynee lost her very beloved cousin six years ago so now she insists on spending time with her brother who happens to live out west. His house is in Port Orford, on the coast of Oregon. Jaynee loves it there and I loathe it. There is virtually no television, nothing to see, almost nowhere to go, and no computer connections. Jaynee's brother is a virtual encyclopedia. His cat hasn't mellowed him out yet. And neither have mine. It would be great to relax the way our three boy kitties do and forget not hearing and stop worrying. Impossible, but I can still wish.