Sabine, the grandma cat, is visibly thinner and slower and sleepier even than even a year ago, back when she was a sprightly 20 years old. She must spend about 23 hours a day asleep, with this fire-worshipping spot being her definite favorite right now. Some days, she lies there even when the fireplace isn’t burning, just hoping, I guess, for us to turn it on.
When she’s not sleeping there or in her cozy corner behind the TV, she’s usually about twelve inches from Genevieve, whom she loves very, very much. If Vivi is on the sofa, Sabine is likely to be there too. Sabine always joins Vivi in bed at bedtime. And if Vivi hasn’t seen Sabine in a while, she’ll go find her and sit with her for a while, gently petting her and talking to her.
Sabine is – in "cat years" – about a hundred years old, but she is still a real individual. She loves Genevieve and the fireplace. She expects her snack at 3:30, her dinner at 5:00, and a bit more food at 8 (when I come downstairs after the girls go to bed) and about 11 (when I head off to bed). She also likes to at least investigate the garage if the door is open, though the concrete floor is too cold for her ancient paws in the winter.
And strangely or amusingly enough, she begs for the last few drops of milk in my cereal bowl each morning: planting herself at my right leg, pawing at my calf and meowing while I eat, and then eagerly lapping up the milk when I put the bowl on the floor for her – usually after an angry squawk of protest at my having been so slow.
Some mornings, I don’t have cereal, but she still begs, and I’d have to be a heartless jerk not to pour a tablespoon of milk into a tiny bowl for her to enjoy. She deserves it.