Pandora is 19 years old. She’s pretty spry and active for an old cat, and continues to wield a wicked sense of humor. It’s hard to picture her as a kitten. All I remember is a tiny puff of fur, fearless and full of fun. She was the runt of the litter, and noticeably smaller than her littermates. That never slowed her down, though. Only days after I got her, she climbed into the fridge. When I noticed she was missing, figured out where she was, and opened the door to let her out, she was completely unperturbed. She hopped out and made a bee-line for the dog, tackling her ears and demanding to be played with. As far as Pandora was concerned, everything was an interesting adventure. That has been her approach to life, for as long as I’ve known her.
I can’t believe it’s been 19 years. Nineteen years. It’s such an unlikely sounding number.
red paper boat 