31 May 2015

Ruby is getting old...

Black and White.

She hardly ever gets up here any more - I had to put her there, just to see if she might take an interest in what was going on outside; she didn't stay there long, jumping down and going off upstairs to sleep. Again. I don't even think she actually looked out the window whilst she was there - she sat for a moment with her eyes closed and then thought she'd be more comfortable elsewhere.
She is thin despite eating, and she has some lumps on her side - they have been there for two or three years but because she has lost weight, feel more significant now. She howls in the night until she can find us, in bed, where she sometimes comes and sleeps on our pillows, anything for contact and warmth. Sometimes, she howls and walks right past where I am sitting, oblivious to my presence and lost in her world. She is getting old. She had a turn the other day when her back legs gave out and then she wee'd on the floor (something she'd never normally do). She's made a recovery since, but I can't help feeling

“Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.” 
― Emily Dickinson

Ruby is approximately 18 years old.

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