Us Old Gals

When my kid went off to college five years ago, we were sure it would be curtains for our cat.

Mabel had always been so attached to the lad.

Originally, when we decided to adopt a cat, it was understood she would be mine. But when we went to the cat shelter, it was my husband who experienced love at first sight.

Mabel hates cats. She was perched up high, hissing at the other felines as they passed by below her. She bore a striking resemblance to our first cat, Marge, who had crossed over a year before.

We were told at the time that we had to wait for Mabel to be spayed. Her official adoption date would be April 8, 2000. The shelter manager said that she was pacing back and forth in front of the door, waiting for my arrival. I had a picture in my head of her tapping a watch and looking up in exasperation: "Where have you been? What took you so long?"

She yelled at me all the way home. Once we arrived, she walked upstairs, downstairs and through the basement, presumably to ensure she was the solo cat. Then she plopped herself down on the couch and indicated her accommodations would be satisfactory.

Over time, it became apparent that Joe was her favorite. She followed him around, sat on his desk as he did his homework or next to him on the couch.

I've always been the provider of food and attended to litter box detail. And general clean up of hairballs and such.

Mr. Ginley talks to her all day when it's just the two of them. He has invented activities which, he claims, keep her heart going. "Dancing Dads and Kitty Cats." And "Tick Tock Kitty Clock." And "Cat Ups." He also rotates her from time to time, so she doesn't get flat on one side. She does her old lady noises at him or yowls, but mostly she has an air of resignation when he embarks on one of his routines.

Mabel's exact age is unknown. When we adopted her, we were told 2 1/2 to 3 years old. Which would put her birthday in 1997, and her current age at about 20.

Her prior owners had her declawed but not spayed. Idiots.

Get your pet spayed or neutered, people!

Sorry, I digress.

Obviously, Mabel has survived her many separations from the boy. Back and forth for college, and now in his new digs. These days, she is happy to see him, and hangs around when he's here, but after he leaves, she no longer yells at me and looks at the door, waiting for him to reappear.

She has adapted.

Mabel has decided that I'm the new human of choice. I don't mind being sloppy seconds. I rather enjoy her draping herself across my lap. Although, honestly, I could do without her sticking her face in my food when I'm trying to eat.

I don't know how much time the old girl has left, but we plan to enjoy her while she's here.

As for our kid, he is adopting a cat of his own, who will be joining him this week. A male cat with whom he established a connection while helping me at the cat shelter.

Just don't tell Mabel!