Reflections on the Thirteenth Week of Fall

 

Our son SC's campaign to dress George as Batman started before Halloween. Spence said no. I reasoned that, forced into any outfit, George would roll on his back and play for last-breath sympathy. But SC kept urging. Arthritis had stiffened George's elbows; he quit jumping onto furniture. Instead, he pleaded with his green googly eyes for lifts to the sofa. SC argued George just laked confidence. With the costume, George would think he could fly so he'd be able to jump. Was George listening? Spence and I'd find George on the sofa and ask each other, “Did you pick him up?” We wouldn't remember. This week I woke to George's footsteps pulling the covers snug against my body. Later, George sat atop the stairwell railing. I set him on the floor. Within minutes, he poked his head over the edge of the kitchen table and chomped on a Chinese evergreen leaf. I put him back on the floor and pushed the empty chair close to the table. When Spence stood to attend the stove, George jumped into Spence's chair and rested his paws on the table to survey our breakfast. Perhaps SC had been George's motivational coach. More likely, the cat glucosamine and heat-soaks in front of the wood stove fire restored his flexibility.