Thirteen years. In 13 years, I figure I will have a freshly-painted porch. By that time, I also figure it will be a termite-eaten, water-rotted, sagging, splintering mess. Ready for replacement. But it will be done. Re-painted. A beautiful thing when hauled to the dump. It will take another 13 years to get to that point. That is what I figure.
It’s all thanks to the porch cat.
There is only one now. There had been two. Both were already up there in years when we adopted them from down the street. A duo. A pair that never went anywhere without the other one. Sunburst is the older male – a nick in his ear forever designating him as a former feral cat. He has only three teeth in his mouth and he’s completely deaf. Not likely to win any kitty pageants, but sweet as can be.
Teagrass was the ailing female who started losing weight dramatically and had just gone on thyroid pills. She must have been 16 years or older. One morning a month or so ago she came home, sat on the kitchen floor without eating and just kind of alerted the world to her presence. It was like she wanted to say hello … or maybe goodbye. Afterward, she wandered off and we never saw her again.