I haven’t sat down with her and discussed her life.

I wonder where she was before she came to live with us.

Was her owner kind?

Did she feed the cat her favorite food?

Brush her fur?

Take her to the vet?

Bingo talks all the time.

She complains about food she doesn’t like.

She meows when she wants more than what we give her.

She yodels after pooping…is that her pride coming out?

Bingo’s vocabulary isn’t one I know or could master in a college class.

Nevertheless, I think I know what she’s saying.

Bingo, despite her age, can still leap onto kitchen counters

Squeeze into tiny places

Sleep on top of the oven or curled up inside the fruit bowl.

We couldn’t find her one day. Searched all her usual spots.

Found her in the coat closet, behind the vacuum cleaner.

Bingo must not have liked that hiding place, as she has never gone back there.

I like when she gets close enough that I can rub the top of her head.

Scratch under her chin. Run my hands down her back,

Even though feeling her spine worries me.

Bingo just turned fifteen.

How much longer will we have her?

She appears healthy, but we know that her kidneys are impacted.

Her teeth are badly in need of brushing,

But to do so, she’d have to be put under.

That’s too risky at her age.

Sometimes Bingo takes a stroll in front of my computer.

She’ll stand blocking my view of the monitor.

Or sit on the keyboard.

Or in my lap.

Making it impossible for me to work.

But I don’t care because she makes me smile.

Her purr warms my heart, makes me feel needed.

There’s something special about a cat’s love.

They take more than they give.

They offer tidbits of acceptance,

But we gush over them, brag about them,

Share photos of them, tell stories about them

As if they are our kids.

They are, in a way.