THE GOLDEN YEARS

TAP! TAP! USING MY PAW I TELL HER IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP AND FEED ME. 8 O'CLOCK. I KNOW SHE'LL TURN OVER FOR A WHILE. SHE'LL SHOO ME AWAY WITH HER HAND, (MIGHT EVEN PUNCH ME), BUT I'LL RETURN TO SIGNIFY BY SITTING ON HER HEAD, PAW AGAIN AND GRUNT. SUCH IS THE START OF A DAY IN MY GOLDEN YEARS. THE CATCALLING , FIGHTS AND FLIGHTS FROM DEATH ARE BEHIND ME. WITH NO MEMORY, I HAVE NO REGRETS. THE HOLE IN MY WINDPIPE HEALED. MINUS A VOICE, EXCEPT FOR OCCASIONAL COUGHS, I GRUNT AND TAP. ELEVEN YEARS I HAVE SURVIVED. MEALS ARE REGULAR, AT 9 AND 5. MY TREAT OF CHEETOES IS PREDICTABLE, COMING AFTER THE SOUND OF SCRABBLE TILES POURING INTO THEIR PROTECTIVE BAG. YUMMY AND CRUNCHY THEY CAP AN EVENING'S REST. QUOTIDIAN NAPS PRECEDE AN EVENING ONE WHICH IS FOLLOWED BY A BLISS-FILLED NIGHT’S SLEEP.( A TOTAL OF 20 HOURS MANDATORY.) INTERRUPTIONS ARE ONLY FOR FOOD AND PERHAPS A CATNIP FIX. SHE SERVICES ME WITH A GARLAND FLEA COLLAR, ABUSES ME WITH A BATH, POPS INTO MY MOUTH A WORM PILL, EACH FOR A GOOD CAUSE - MY HEALTH. I AM NOT AWARE OF THE APRICOT COLOR OF MY SILKY COAT, BUT I EXPECT MY SERVANT TO WIPE UP THE DIGESTED BALL OF FUR I HEAVE ONTO THE FLOOR OR INTO HIS SLIPPER ON A REGULAR BASIS. I SUCK IN MOIST AIR THROUGH THE SCREEN DOOR. FOR FRESH ODORS A WINDOW WILL ALSO SUFFICE. NO URGE EXISTS TO DASH OUTDOORS ANYMORE AND EVENTUALLY 'RUN' INTO CONFRONTATIONAL TROUBLES. I RECREATE BY NAPPING AND EATING. I SPRAWL IN THE MIDDLE OF ANY FLOOR OR WALKWAY I PLEASE. MY CHILDISH TOYS HAVE BEEN PUT AWAY. THE ANIMOSITY I HELD FOR OTHER HOUSEHOLD CATS HAS BEEN SHELVED. A DOG AND ANOTHER CAT, NEITHER MY COMPANION, ARE IGNORED. FOOD HAS BECOME MY ADDICTION IN MY GOLDEN YEARS. I BEG AT THE KITCHEN COUNTER WHEN MY HUMANS PARTAKE OF LUNCH. I ATTEND TO THE SOUND OF CHOPPING ON THE CUTTING BOARD. 50% ATTRITION STILL RESULTS IN MEAT SCRAPS. TAP! TAP! NAP! NAP! A SNACK! A SNACK! TODAY SHE POSITIONED ME FRONT AND CENTER OF THE GEORGE FOREMAN AND I LICKED OFF THE BEEF GREASE RESIDUE TO MY HEART'S CONTENT. YES, I'M IN MY GOLDEN YEARS.