My senior cat is full of grace.
It’s in her smile.
It’s on her face.
She’s made her peace with days gone wrong.
It’s in her purrs.
Each one a song.
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.
“I do not at all understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.”
― Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith
Since the moment those deep soulful eyes first met mine, I knew the 6 year old corgi resting before epitomized grace.
And I sensed her grace would help lead me through the journey I was on.
Much like a spirit animal, I thought.
I’d brought my husband Richard along for the long ride to meet Maddie.
“We’re going to drive north and we’ll just take a look,” I’d told Richard earlier that morning eight years ago as I hurriedly entered the interstate to beat the heavy rush hour traffic.
But I doubt he was even listening.
Richard’s early onset dementia had also been rapidly accelerating, as was my stress. And my mother’s dementia seemed to be on the same fast track.
When we arrived at the animal shelter four hours later Maddie spotted us, sporting a smile. She soon rolled to her back, begging for a belly scratch.
I quickly felt my stress melt in spite of the chilly weather.
Maddie had been a former working dog.
“She’s was from a very questionable backyard breeder,” the volunteer told me frowning.
Living on a back porch in the frigid winter months producing litter after litter must have been miserable, I remember thinking.
Yet looking back it seemed Maddie did learn resilience, and fine tuned her nurturing skills while there.
Maybe I have as well through all she’s shared with me over the years.
Today my caregiving responsibilities are gone with the death of my husband and my mom a few years go. I’ve retired from being a caregiver, at least for now.
Maddie and I have become seniors ourselves though she’s outpacing me some in that race.
My girl’s 98 in dog years, and is totally lame.
She’s getting tired, but is still happy most days.
“You need to start thinking about Maddie’s end of life, and her quality of life,” the vet told me recently.
“I am,” I replied with a look of resignation as I walked out.
I was in desperate need of a good cry.
It quickly became my purpose that day to see the controversial movie, “A Dog’s Purpose”.
In the film I knew there was a well loved corgi portrayed who passed away.
My sobbing started as soon as that corgi appeared on screen.
And my tears were quickly creating a waterfall.
They blocked my vision as I stumbled out of my seat, past the buttered popcorn, and then blindly entered the mens’ room in search of more Kleenex.
I apologized profusely to the three gentlemen in there who were staring at me.
Now that my tears are finely gone, I’m watching for more signs that it’s time for Maddie to move on.
This morning she smiled up at me when she spotted me, just as she has so often.
I’ve been blessed to witness plenty of those warm smiles on the sometimes bumpy journey we’ve shared together.
Yet I’m also starting to pay attention to what Maddie has to say as well.
Unfortunately there are no carefully drafted end of life wishes for our aging canine friends.
“Are you ready to go girl?” I ask Maddie if she’s looking a bit down sometimes at night.
I’m not hearing an answer, at least yet.
Author Jon Katz has written in his book ‘Talking to Animals’, “If we listen, they can tell us.”
One day soon I know that Maddie will.
And I’ll be there to help her along, no matter what path she decides to take.
I only hope she can run again like the wind.