Findley

I'm envious of my cat. No matter what the weather on these wintry mornings, he's in the same place when we leave the house. As Kieran and I bundle to face the elements, Findley looks up at us from his chair by the fire as if to say,


"You poor things, having to go out in that. Try not to make noise on your way out the door."


I used to find it especially frustrating when Findley would wake us at 6:00am with persistent purrs and kitty kneads only to be back asleep on his chair by seven, just as we left for work.

But life is not all tuna fish and cat nip for our kitty. Poor Findley's life has changed. He was my baby before Kieran came along. While I still adore him, he knows his status has changed. He has to sleep in the basement now. Sometimes, we run out of soft food. We forgot to unpack his Christmas stocking this year. I would say he's accepted these changes with grace and dignity. In those rare moments, when Kieran is occupied and I sit down to read a book, Findley is right there, willing to take whatever love he can scavenge.


Or, maybe he never really cared, which is more likely. As long as he's fed, has a place to sleep, a clean litter, and the odd scratch behind the ear, he'll stick around. And we're glad he's here.