a sweet old man


We’d met once before, when I was walking down the sidewalk in front of his house.

He looked at me a bit warily at first. And as I recall, his people, who were also outside, said not to be surprised if he ran away, that he could be a cranky old guy.

But I said hello anyway, as I always do.

He gave me a brief, appraising look. And then he meowed rather loudly, jumped off the wall he’d been sitting on, and trotted over to say hello.


On this more recent visit, I brought gifts (treats and a new mousie toy), and we were formally, properly introduced.

Following introductions, Carlos showed me a few of his favorite spots in the house: where he likes to lounge on the couch, and the kitchen counter where he sits and supervises while dad eats his breakfast and reads the newspaper.


cat "reading," well, sitting on a newspaper on the counter


And at the ripe old age of seventeen, he even showed off his patented trick of running across the room to his cardboard scratch pad and jumping on it just right so that it slides across the floor.

After that, of course, it was time to snuggle in dad’s lap for a few back scratches and then, finally, time to show off the nap-worthiness of his fluffy bed by the window.


sleeping cat


His dad wrote to me about a week later to say that Carlos had been keeping the new mousie toy with him in his bed, which is not something he usually does.

Awww, Carlos, you’re not a cranky guy, are you? No, you’re a sweet old cat.

mug of tea