I took this shot of our cat, Feather, one afternoon in November. I was busy doing something in the bedroom and felt I was being watched. She has assumed this peeking pose throughout her life but I've never before gone for the camera to capture the image. Surprisingly, I found her in the same position when I returned to the bedroom with the camera. A cat thinking.
Feather will be 15 years old this coming March and she amazes us by seeming a kitten or young cat in so many ways. When she reached 7 lbs. in her first years she simply stopped growing. Where Shiva is obese and I am now having to monitor Willow's food intake, Feather eats enough to maintain her 7 lbs. and is content. Consequently, she can still run and play like a kitten and I think her mind is sharper too because she is in such great shape.
I would guess that 90% of all the posts here at Writerquake have been written with Feather in my lap for at least a portion of the writing. She is here now, sitting up in my lap so that her furry white head obscures my vision of the left side of the keyboard. As always, she is purring. When I wrap this up in a few minutes she will follow me into the bathroom to drink from the bathtub faucet while I get ready for bed. She will follow me into the bedroom and will find a cozy corner on the bed for some dreamtime. She will be there when I wake up in the morning.
Feather is the oldest of all our pets and is the only one who moved here to our house with us. All the others came afterward. She is truly the little mystic of the house. The hub of the wheel that keeps the works turning. The one who watches with huge eyes as the years roll by. A featherweight of a cat who has lightened the dark spots of my life more times than I can count. The pet who truly loves her mommy and daddy (yes, she does know those are our names) equally. A perfectly healthy feline. A cat being close to perfect. A cat being close. A cat being. Here. Now.
* English proverb