Pandora

Pandora will be 18 this spring. That’s apparently the equivalent of 78 human years. She’s starting to show her age, too. She can’t jump as well as she used to. She doesn’t understand why, though, so she keeps trying to launch herself onto the kitchen counter. I’ve placed “steps” at strategic points around the house, to make it easier for her to reach her favorite spots. She doesn’t always use them, though. I wince every time I hear her fall, but I can’t make her stop trying to climb. She’s always been a climber. When she was younger, she would’ve swung from the chandelier if I’d had one. I’ve found her on top of the fridge, above the false ceiling, on top of floor lamps, bookcases, and cupboards. I’ve even seen her walk the shower curtain rod, like it was a tightrope. I think she might’ve climbed Everest if she’d known it existed.

She’s also getting clumsy. Wherever she goes, she knocks things over. Not a night goes by that I don’t wake up to the sound of something or other crashing to the floor, a victim of Pandora’s late night wanderings. It’s exasperating, but what do you do? Pick up the mess and try not to think about it, I guess. The bigger problem is that her clumsiness makes it more difficult for her to get out from underfoot. She also cannot react as quickly as she used to. I’m worried that I’m going to step on her one of these days, because she’s constantly underfoot. I’ve taken to picking her up and placing her in a safe place, to keep her out of harm’s way.

She also sleeps a lot more now. Not that it’s easy to notice when a cat is sleeping more, but she does, and more heavily, too. She’s got a new favorite sun spot, and spends most of the day basking there. She often rolls over on her side, with one or more paws up in the air. Of course, it’s impossible to resist taking a picture when that happens.

And, yes, her fur is just as soft and silky as it looks.