Kevin Brennan Writes About What It's Like
I think we all probably get a bit wistful this time of year. I know I do. Between the often crappy weather and the frenetic pace of things outside my sanctuary, it’s all I can do not to seal myself in the house with headphones and a three-month supply of Tanqueray.
But there are a few things that revive.
We have this 20.5-year-old cat. Nip is her name. Every time I look at her, I say, “Wow.”
We adopted her at the San Francisco animal shelter way back in 1993, when we got our first apartment together. We were young. Nip was too. So young, in fact, that she didn’t exist nine weeks earlier. We were young in the sense that we were to grow older over the next 20 years, which in fact we have done. Our young minds are still residing inside the rapidly aging bodies, though, and we still have this ancient cat, so there’s a nice continuity in all of this.
Nip has been getting colds lately. Her life is coming to its natural conclusion. The vet jazzes her up with a shot of antibiotics every so often, but one of these days it won’t do the trick and she’ll mosey on down the line.
The thirty-somethings who picked that critter from the crowd of kitties that day in ‘93 are still here, in an odd way — memories, running gags, photos, stories.
And for now, Nip is still here too.