Sad news. A week today, Florian passed away. Heart failure. He was only six years old. He had lived the first few years of his life outside, in a garden; then he came to us. I’d like to think his last years were good years. Loving, intelligent, cuddly, stoic, playful, good companion, good friend to Emile. He inspired several of my poems. Sorely missed, he is now buried in a sheltered spot in our garden.
In her long life she owned six cats, each living at least ten years. As a child, she was afraid of her first cat, a street-wise tabby. Then she loved chasing her around the house, transferring her fear to the cat. As a teen, she helped a boyfriend taunt the poor thing. She ignored, tripped over, kicked, or spoiled subsequent cats, depending on her phase of life and her mood. Now resting in her recliner, she caresses and speaks to her latest, and only, companion, an ageing, placid ginger, with a gentleness she hasn’t known before.
the lifelong practice of
learning to love