I was so proud of her…
She’s old and so frail, as thin as a rail, a bony old kitty with a sweet personality. Her eyes have cataracts and she has trouble with stairs and gets confused sometimes. But there she was in the yard, stalking something. Her attention was on a squirrel; she moved forward by centimeters, ever so slowly and quietly.
And considering her condition, it was quite a burst of speed. She ran through the grass and across the street. Of course, in her best days, she could never catch a squirrel. She had always gone for bugs and the occasional mouse. The squirrel looked up and I think it may have laughed as it ran three feet up the tree trunk.
They stayed still, regarding each other until I scooped her up and brought her trembling inside, and I combed her fur and talked softly to her, and gave her a little snack for a reward. Exhausted, she lay on the rug in front of the sink, her head on the floor looking up at me.
There’s a last time for everything, I suppose; was this her last pursuit? Will there be more? Might she be hit by a car in that single-minded dash across the street? She is such a good kitty; I am sure going to miss her when she’s gone.