Oh, too late. . .

[Loki]

Loki received glowing yet reserved comments from the doctor this morning during his annual exam.

He has gained a tiny bit of weight, something not unexpected given his asthma diagnosis almost a year ago to the day.  With an enlarged heart and the persistent struggle for enough oxygen, his normal activity level has been curtailed severely, tempered by his own body’s inability to keep up with the devil inside.  He receives daily medication, yes, but even that cannot contain the whole of the problem.

Approaching 11 human years of age does not help.  That equates to 58 cat years.  While still active and quite the rambunctious devil, I recognize on a continual basis how tiny shavings are removed almost daily from his heretofore daring escapades.  When I’m his age, I hope to be as profoundly vigorous as he is, especially considering his health.

Overall, the veterinarian had good things to say about his condition.  His lungs sound good, although the echo of debris was evident.  His heart sounds good despite its enlarged state.  His muscle tone is quite excellent, something for which Loki has always been known, yet the slightest bit of degradation is now evident due in no small part to the steady reduction in his activity.  His temperature is perfect for a feline.

Despite the evidence of age and disease, my little soul stealer was sent home with glowing remarks and the continued warning of needed vigilance for his welfare.  Much unlike Henry before him, Loki’s true and only mentor, it’s doubtful that this god of mischief will live another decade.  But I still have hope. . .

“The problem with cats is that they get the exact same look on their faces whether they see a moth or an ax-murderer.”

— Paula Poundstone

Is Loki staring at me in disgust, in want for attention, in query of what comes next, or something else entirely?  Only I know for certain, for only I know precisely what each look, each gesture, each utterance means to such precise detail as to be unbelievable.

For you, the casual reader, I leave the question unanswered…

A moment of Loki zen as he plops down on Daddy’s lap and settles in for a comfy bit of sleep.

Ne’er has there been, nor ever will there be, a more inquisitive creature than a feline.  But curiosity rests not at the pinnacle of this trait, although it likely represents a vast majority.

How often I comprehend from just a look the inquiry hiding behind the predator’s eyes.  How easily I discern from a simple meow the probing to which I submit myself.  How cunning the interrogator as they manipulate me at depths I ne’er before comprehended.

A treat, you say?  Throw the ball?  Pet you until your purring rumbles the furniture about the room?

These things and a great many other clear requests—sometimes demands—flow through the air betwixt cat and me as easily as water streams between riparian grounds.  By look or voice, or both, questions stream forth clear as the typed word.

And I answer, for it is mine to do so… my obligation, my right, my joy.

Could—would—any other be so inclined or capable?

[Loki]