A Little Spring in Her Winter

I think I worry about Cammie the most of my cats. She had a stroke at the end of last May, and lost her sight as a result. She is undoubtedly weaker in body because of the incident, and, lately, she seems more feeble still. I watch her and notice that she moves a little more slowly and is more uncertain on the stairs climbing and descending to the bed. My concern is that her heart was damaged by the stroke; possibly the brain’s capacity to manage the body is hurt. My princess is fifteen now and would be more than three quarters of the way through her lifespan even if in the best of health.

She spends most of her time in the bedroom, sometimes on the bed, sometimes in her heated cat-bed on the floor in the corner. It is placed on a towel on a rug on the carpet, has a heating pad in it and is by the radiator: I think sometimes she finds it too warm, but at least she won’t be chilly. She still grooms herself conscientiously and, while there are days when she eats little, her appetite remains encouragingly good. I feed her soft-food whenever she asks for it and there is always hard-food available to her.

Her blindness must limit her world tremendously, but even so she strives to enjoy what she can, which is why I am pleased that spring is approaching. Our weather here has been alternately wintry and vernal, but yesterday it hinted at April, or at least March, for a few hours. I came into the bedroom to find that Cammie had climbed one of the cat-trees and discovered the sunshine coming through the window. I opened the pane a little and let the fresh air enter. My little Siamese caught a whiff of the outside and spent some time learning from the fragrances what was happening in the wider world that she will never see.

Cats are, I think, practical creatures, and so Cammie probably doesn’t sigh too much over her lost vision. I fancy that she enjoys her comfy bed, the ready supply of food, her little water-bowl close to hand and, when the sun comes back north, the thicker rays it sends her way, and the warmer scents that slip through the window’s screen. Some day she will leave, but perhaps she will stay for another spring, another summer. She and I would like that.