I’m not sure whether it’s all in my head that Ani the cat is experiencing dementia. I question, also, whether experiencing dementia makes one demented.
She’s 17 now, the first fur baby my husband and I adopted as an engaged couple.
Russell proposed to me on March 19, 2008, with a song that he wrote and performed during open mic night at Serene Bean. Spring’s full “worm moon” lit up the sky that last night of winter, and I beamed the whole way home. Mom was asleep, but I woke her up with my news. When she rolled over and fell back asleep, I packed a few things and headed to Russell’s place.
Ani Grey Eldridge was born March 23, 2008, according to the tag on her cage at the Cherokee County animal shelter. That Sunday was also the earliest Easter of the 21st century. If you’re alive now, you won’t be the next time Easter comes this early, in 2160.
Tori Amos danced inside my brain singing, “I’ve got a cat named Easter…” as I smiled at the white fur outlining this tiny kitten’s grey fur. The track in my head switched to the Ani DiFranco song that Russell and I danced to at our wedding March 14, 2009.
My kitty kitty is barely fur and bones. I worry, as I spoon feed her soft cat food, that she is only chewing on one side. For a moment, I panic internally, fighting the urge to call a veterinarian for feline pain meds. I watch Ani’s arthritic body limp across the bedroom toward the litter box in the bathroom. She stops along the way and drinks water from the bowl below the sink. I tell her, “I love you” and pet her head. She walks slowly back to the large dog crate with its ground floor entrance and curls up again.
I go back to work and listen to “Grey” by Ani DiFranco, on repeat.
the sky is grey
the sand is grey
and the ocean is grey
and i feel right at home
in this stunning monochrome
alone in my way
i smoke and i drink
and every time i blink
i have a tiny dream
but as bad as i am
i’m proud of the fact
that i’m worse than i seem
what kind of paradise am i looking for?
i’ve got everything i want and still i want more
maybe some tiny shiny key
will wash up on the shore
you walk through my walls
like a ghost on tv
you penetrate me
and my little pink heart
is on its little brown raft
floating out to sea
and what can i say
but i’m wired this way
and you’re wired to me
and what can i do
but wallow in you
unintentionally
what kind of paradise am i looking for?
i’ve got everything i want and still i want more
maybe some tiny shiny key
will wash up on the shore
regretfully
i guess i’ve only got three
simple things to say:
why me?
why this now?
why this way?
with overtones ringing
and undertows pulling away
under a sky that is grey
on sand that is grey
by an ocean that’s grey
what kind of paradise am i looking for?
i’ve got everything i want
and still i want more
maybe some tiny shiny key
will wash up on the shore