The Quiet Joy of a Senior Cat

She no longer jumps onto the counter. She no longer chases the string. These days her great adventure is the three steps from her bed to the sunny patch by the window.

The vet calls it aging. I call it a slower kind of company. She cannot do the things she used to, but she has become more exact about the things she still does. She chooses one lap, one window, one hour of sunlight, and she enjoys them completely.

We have a small routine now. I make tea. She arranges herself on the arm of the chair. We watch the street together and say nothing. It is the least productive hour of my day, and I would not trade it.

Love does not need a big body or a loud voice. Sometimes it is just a warm weight on the arm of a chair, breathing slowly, asking you to stay.