I was told he came from an animal cruelty situation.
I was told to expect him to live another three to six months.
Still you’d never know it to look at him.
At least, not for now.
Mr. Bojangles appears to be one happy gentleman. And he knows what he likes.
Since coming home with me right before Christmas, I’ve learned he clearly wants to be part of the family.
And to find his own place in the sun.
On this fifteen below zero morning, that meant scoring a soft bed on a desk near a well insulated window for a nap.
Occasionally Mr. Bojangles would jump down to stroll through the house, moving with gentle grace as he explored new closets and cozy corners.
Yet his speed would increase whenever I called him or when he heard the already familiar squeak of the door to the kitchen cabinet where his snacks are kept.
He knows that both mean a slow scratch and a tuna treat will follow.
It seems simple gifts bring Mr. Bojangles the greatest joy.
As well as just living in the moment.
And that’s made for one very wise man indeed this holiday season.