My Small ...

... weighs no more than a bird nowadays, though once upon a time the vet picked her up and exclaimed "my, she weighs more than she looks". My Small no longer has the satin sheath of a coat she once did, it's no longer a slip of silk slinking over muscle. These days it's "floofy", and just not quite "kempt", despite my brushings and smoothings. My Small is no longer moves across the room like a ballet dancer. She moves slowly, carefully, tentatively, she "clomps". We can hear her, now, stomping up the hall, circling the bed several times before she dares a jump up to join us. Once, you'd look down and there she was, a ninja cat.My Small sleeps a lot. I know all cats sleep a lot, but it's more than before. And these days I make a nest of our pillows before we leave for the day, because she likes that as a snoozing spot more than all the dozen or so other spots she has claimed over the years. And yet, she's still enthusiastic about tucker time, despite a reduction in teeth. She still pats ribbons and toy mice, though she doesn't fling them about the room anymore. I remember when watching Small play with the knitted yellow mouse was more entertaining than anything the idiot box ever screened. She was poetry in motion, a Balinese dancer. Watching her stiff progress across the floor now, make me cry inside, remembering the Small that was.
She's still here and her purr still thrums across the room. And O, how she LOVES the sunshine.
And for this, I am glad.