The Tank gets cold these days. He spends a lot of time lap surfing, in between visits to the heat vent when it's on. This increased affection as he gets older seems so bittersweet.
He's still our big guy, even with his skinny old man hips. He makes as much noise as ever as he prowls around the house, and if Mr Fuzzypants gets out of line, he reminds him whose house he lives in. But our boy is changing.
He limps more often than not, and he'll allow you to lift him into your lap (a move he disdained even as a kitten). He purrs the same rumbling, deep bass, and he still sleeps behind my knees every night. We tell the girls that he's an old cat now, and that our time with him is getting short, but I think that is as much to prepare ourselves as to prepare them. (I avoid even thinking about what Mr Fuzzypants will do when his friend and Godfather (think mafioso) leaves us.) Perhaps our warnings are premature; he may go on for years as he is. But with all of the changes we've seen in him during the past 18 months, it is hard to imagine the landslide of age leveling out into a plateau.
It's been funny watching the Tank and Mr Fuzzpants roll through the bathroom/kitchen redo and the seasonal whirl of workshops.
The Tank, my previously antagonistic main kitty man, has rolled through the spates of craziness with a zen calm. He sleeps where he can, finds sunbeams where they land, even if it's in on the collage supplies during a workshop, and reacts with cool aplomb when confined to the upstairs bathroom/prison.
Mr Fuzzypants is the one who growls now at the trucks that drive slowly down the street, or cries piteously when even momentarily caught in a room.
I haven't decided if The Tank is continuing to mellow, or if he is bowing to the pressure to cool in comparison to his more spastic younger companion. I'm sure I heard him saying "Brace up!" to Mr Fuzzypants the other day.
I see. Laying low, enjoying the holidays, having fun.
I have something to tell you. It's unfortunate, so brace yourself. The vacation is over. It's time to go back to our everyday lives. No more presents, no more decorations, no more late mornings, and no more laps to snuggle on 24/7.
Mr Fuzzypants has always worshiped paper. Sometimes that worship comes in the form of destruction and sometimes it comes as love.
Most of the time, I keep a wad of packing paper on the floor next to my sewing chair, Mr Fuzzypants will come up, rough up the paper (you know, to make it comfy) and then sleep there. (I *know* paper is so lush and soft. But really, it's what he likes.)
Well, his last bit of paper got too tattered, so I recycled it last week (heathen, much?). So today I gave him a new sheet of paper from a box I was unpacking. He played with it on and off all morning.
When Big E got up this morning, I was sewing up the last of my Etsy orders. He came into the sewing room and started checking emails, and then we heard the sound of paper being mauled. I wondered what Mr F was getting into, and turned to find that he's carried his new sheet of paper into the sewing room so he could hang with us.
Mmmm.. soft and cozy packing paper... Notice the toy collection he brought with him?