Cats are notorious for going in "spells"--for weeks or months, they will have a favorite spot; then, for no known reason, they will change spots and never again go near the first one. My cat's current favorite is the middle of the fireplace mantle, but he used to curl up at the foot my bed at night, which I liked. He still likes to sleep on my desk while I'm working, but he has forsworn the living room couch he loved and the back of the upholstered chair in my bedroom which, early on, was a favorite spot.
Now, he's 18, almost 19, though quite spry. But whereas he always ignored dry food and couldn't wait for canned meat--which always had to be fresh, so I learned some tricks. After all, throwing out that expensive kidney diet food gets a bit costly. He would watch me spoon it back into the can, mush it around, dish out new, and then he'd eat heartily. For the last few days, he's refused to eat canned food but goes through almost two cuPs of dry food a day.
I keep his food on a high counter in the bathroom to keep it away from the dog. The cat has always jumped on the seat between the two counters, then up to his food. But in the last months, he's sat patiently on the seat waiting for me to lift him up. Taking pity on his age, I did so, but I knew he got up there by himself in the night, and when I came home from lunch today I caught him up there eating. Tonight I was using the commode (okay, not pleasant for eating, even if it's a cat) and he looked at me, calculated his jump several times, and made it up there. I told him, "See? I knew you could do it."
There's no relation between these two subjects, but I had lunch with two favorite senior citizens today, both past their mid-eighties. We ate at a Mexican restaurant where we all like the spinach enchiladas--although I changed the usual lunch order to have only one enchilada and beans, no rice. Delicious. But I was struck by the difference in attitudes: the younger one (86) is all embroiled in trying to arrange a trust for her nephew and a power of attorney to administer it, if something happens to her. She's fully enjoying life. But the other one, 88 years old, said sometimes she thinks Dr.Kevorkian has it right, and it would be so wonderful just to go to sleep and let others worry about such things. I said, "Not me. I'm enjoying life too much," and they said in unison, "Wait until you hit your eighties." I know I'm barely into my seventies, but I hope to prove them wrong. I'm not ready to get old or world-weary!
I took a break from writing this post to sit on the porch with a glass of wine and read Laughed Till He Died: A Death on Demand Mystery by Carolyn Hart. I love Hart's mystery bookstore series and always buy the newest one as soon as it is available on Kindle.