Christmas 1964. That was a long time ago, especially in cat years. What’s a “long time ago”. Well let’s see….I can tell time as in dinnertime, snacktime and bedtime….but calendar time?! Not so much. And mix in some math needed for the cat year calculation to define a “long time ago”…
Okay, yes, I cheated. I asked "her".
So given that one cat year is about the equivalent of seven human years that would make a “long time ago” exactly 322 years ago!
See what I mean – Christmas 1964, a long time ago, at 322 years in the past, would be considered old. And anything from that time…. an antique. And guess who that is in the picture?!
|Yep. It's "her".|
|And the sister.|
|And "the cat".|
So that would make the three of them antiques! Well in cat years that is (as if there is anything other than cat years).
And old things, old junk and antiques? Ah yes, how I swoon over them - full of character, imperfections and signs of being loved and loving (as well as not telling where I sharpen my claws).
“She” tells me that’s why “she” has such a love of the old and imperfect too (not the sharpening claws part).
But don’t go all wide eyed and jumping to conclusions. I did not sharpen my claws on anyone or anything you see in the pictures. Especially the old picture of "her" cat. Nope, it was way before my time.
Nor have I had anything at all to do with the condition of “her” current sawdust and fluff critters. Nope. That’s how “she” bought them. I know scary to think that someone would pay money for some of these. My opinion? Purrsonally, I think “she” is still pining over the loss of “the cat”.
You see, "the cat" is no longer with us. And you would think that someone would get over it after 322 years. But it was love. Still is love.
“The cat” was given to her when “she” was born as a gift. And it had a little wind up music box that played Brahm’s Lullaby. (Do they even still make those windy up things?) Apparently the lullaby didn’t put “her” to sleep fast enough. I’m told that “she” would lie in her crib and pull out the fur on the poor cat.
|One of "her" current favorites. Gee, wonder why?|
After some time, obviously, the cat ended up with some bald spots. Quite a few actually. Probably more bald than furry by the time crib sleeping was over. “She” even told me, that if “she” really thinks about it, she can still feel that course weave where there was no longer any fur. (Wanna tell me that’s not pining for a lost love?) But it didn’t matter that the cat was almost bald. Nope, not the least.
“She” loved that cat until it departed to the landfill one day while “she” was in kindergarten. I know. The horror. The trauma. But how many well meaning Mom’s toss out blankies and old toys?! No doubt more than a few. Don't be sad, it wasn’t really the end of “the cat”.
No, “the cat” is still here.
He lives in “her” heart and in her memory. And yes, “she” still loves him. Even named the business after him and called it (appropriately), the tattered cat.
That love is the kind of love that is Christmas.
The kind that is true and never fades.
I know it’s the kind of love “she” has for me. But honestly, I still wouldn’t mind too much, if one morning I woke up and had a few less tufts of fur.
I wonder, did you have anything you loved as much in your childhood?