It used to be easy to worry...

photo: Cowboy used to jump on top of doors in his younger days.





I know what they say, the time you waste in worry is totally wasted because things will happen whether you worry or not (worry being different than planning or preparing).
But I'm getting to the age where things could actually be permanent. Certainly the wrinkles--sorry, character lines--are here to stay.
I've been noticing things with my faithful companion Cowboy, who will, as near as we can figure (he being a rescue), be 14 on February 14 (the arbitrary birthdate I gave him). He is slower. More deliberate. It's a good day when he engages in play combat with Miss Kitty. It warms my cockles when I see him stalking her and sticking around to stick up for himself.
He thinks about leaping up to the kitty condo seat now. Prepares himself. He of the effortless leaps four and five times his height as a tiny kitten chasing a bumblebee toy on an elastic string that I had to replace over and over. For years just hearing me open the drawer I kept it in made him come running and leaping.
Cowboy will stick around when my granddaughter is here. Miss Kitty does a Mister Mistophelees vanish. At 2 last year, the WGG squealed when she saw the kitties, scaring the bejeebers out of them. She wanted to squeeze 'em. They wanted nothing to do with that. Wouldn't get close, except when we were reading quietly on the bed.
Now she's a quieter 3 and Practical Cowboy will come for treats. He keeps a distance, belly drops when caught, stays still, allows her to come close in case she has gifts, gives her the impression he likes her while keeping an avenue of escape open.
He squeals a little himself if I don't pick him up right. Lays down next to the computer, even on it a little, rests his head gently on my mouse hand. Crawls in my lap like he did as a kitten when he was so tiny he had to be picked up. Still snuggles, purrs and sleeps.
Gets me up when he's out of his favorite food. Knocks things off the desk or rattles papers in the trash to get my attention.
He's a wise one, with me. I look into the future and my throat catches at the thought of one without him, so he gets a few more treats, more coat brushing and I refill his food a little quicker.
Even Miss K, at a mature 8 going on 9, is a little slower to jump, but still loves chasing shoe strings.
So when there is an ache, my mind worries it like a bone: could it be the Big Arthur, or tobogganing down that hill? What's the twinge in the knee? The constant need for glasses. And the big one: the mind. It seems harder to organize, retains less, has a softer focus--normal...or Alzheimer's?
It used to be easy to worry, cause what I worried about hardly ever happened.
Now? I know worrying won't stop any of it, if any of it can be stopped. It might, however, make me pay attention to something that could be.
As long as I don't let it get in the way of playing with the kitties and the WGG.

Sli