wfgodot
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Your basic "I love and appreciate my cat" essay, but better than most.
The cat with 17 lives (Guardian)
The cat with 17 lives (Guardian)
the entire essay at the link aboveAt mealtimes three of my cats eat on the floor, but the oldest, The Bear, eats on a chair above them. The Bear is 17 now, missing several teeth, and likes to eat at his own sedate pace, carefully sucking the jelly off each chunk. He pauses to glance up nervously every 15 seconds or so, as if paranoid an adversary might be creeping up behind him.
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The Bear was named for his resemblance to a teddy bear, but, the more you get to know him, what he becomes most reminiscent of is a sad owl. Looking into those his eyes, I feel I can see all the world's pain. "What is it, The Bear?" pretty much anyone who has ever spent any significant time with him will soon be tempted to ask. (...) While others shout and swear their way through the day, he continues to offer his silent commentary: all-knowing, wry, dignified, troubled.
He was originally found in a plastic bag on the hard shoulder of a motorway, along with several of his siblings. Since then, his fur has all fallen out due to a flea allergy (...) He's withstood carbon monoxide poisoning, had a hole ripped in his throat by a feral challenger, developed asthma, lost chunks of both ears, gone awol for almost six weeks in south London (...) and been rather brutally given his marching orders on countless occasions by Biscuit, my next door neighbours' cat, whose Last Of The Summer Wine affection he pines for.
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He looks plusher than ever - it's a long time since his hair last fell out - and is far more accommodating than he once was to house guests, although the beeline he makes for those with a history of depression or a penchant for 19th-century gothic literature has been noted.
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But in the last few months, I've noticed the difficulty The Bear has climbing down from any object higher than his own head. The customary camp wobble to his walk is starting to get more wobbly, but in an arthritic way. His back feels worryingly brittle when I stroke it. He'll sometimes shuffle towards the cat flap, see that it is raining outside, then look up at me and turn around, as if to say, "Oh, it's all a bit too much. I don't think I'll bother."
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Yes, he could be young and scar-free. He could still have perfectly intact ears and the confidence to hurtle up a tree, not believing anything bad could happen to him, or rip a vole's face off. And that would be great for him in many ways. But what wisdom would he lose in the process? What enigma, which layers? Would he be quite as interesting to be around? And - most crucially of all - could you then still say that he was truly The Bear?