After Payton the Cat’s 3rd surgery in the first 3 years of his life, I made a mental note to myself that if I got to keep him around until he was 10 years old, I’d be a happy camper. In the subsequent years (and random surgeries and mishaps), I would silently pray to just get in a couple more years with my accident prone “first born,” who quite possibly is the most supremely awesome cat ever born.
Well, his 10th birthday came and went and as we’re coming up on the advanced age of 12, he has somehow maintained his primary position in my lap even with the addition of a second cat, two dogs and a very lovable little boy. Now with this baby girl about to make her debut (and effectively round out our very own version of Noah’s Arc), I’m squeezing in some extra time with Mr. P since (at least for the next year) my lap will most likely be fully occupied by my genetic offspring.
Plus, I’m fully aware that Payton and I are on borrowed time together. Although we always joked about the fact that Payton would be the last one standing (fully blind, deaf and on three legs), I can honestly say that no one expected him to stick around this long. When I first adopted him, I was a college kid living in my first apartment barely past my 21st birthday. Payton has since moved with me 6 times and has been around for every major milestone in my life (graduating college, getting a Masters, finishing my Ph.D., getting married, buying a house, giving birth…). In other words, he has been more of a constant over the last 12 years than anything else in my life.
So, Mr. P, for today and all the days we have left in your little kitty life, I love ya little buddy. Please forgive me in advance for relegating you to the back of the couch once our baby comes home.