And then there were two.
This is Brownie. A close-up of Brownie. She’s a cat in her teens, which would be like a human in her 80s. She’s had a couple of close calls. She’s cashed in a handful of those nine lives. The closest call: A grudge match between her intestines and ribbon.
She’s losing muscle mass and there’s other signs. There’s also signs she’s got plenty of life to live. She is a constant companion to the girls I love most in this world. So on the day I snapped this, I thanked her. Not that she’s going anywhere.
She and Cubbie are the last of four cats we rescued long ago.
I’ve told the story before. Brownie’s a sweet girl, and seems to forget all together that once I skimmed the top of her head with a Christmas ornament the girls had hung on the door. I got my finger caught in it and slung it across the room.
And it bounced off her confused head.
She forgave, and forgot. She’s a good girl.