Just a quick update to say that I clearly take my own words both seriously and prophetically. Soon after writing the previous post pondering why I feel so close to this battered and bruised boy, I guess I decided to feel even closer to him by getting battered and bruised myself.
Walking briskly toward the entrance New Leaf for some frozen yogurt (always dangerous, quipped Jack), I tripped on the curb and went flying, landing on my stomach and hands. My normally-problematic knees were spared, but my right hand was numb for hours, and turned out to be sprained. (Not broken, thankfully.) But I be in a world of hurt; only Advil and kitty purrs are making me feel better.
And Big Mike of course. He seems to understand. Putting his paw in my hand is one of his favorite things, and is it my imagination, or is he doing it more gingerly now? Dear boy, I SO feel your pain! If only I could handle mine with as much grace and dignity!
Something tells me I’ll be looking for Mike’s forever home soon. His wound is doing better, and he’s starting to show signs of restlessness. How long can I keep a sweet soul in a bedroom when he has so much love to offer?