Were we not, just recently, right in this space, talking of age and dreams and never-too-late ideals?
Were we not talking of beach volleyball, and ageless agility…and Chianti?
Well, well. Providence has had its way. Unbeknownst to me or you or Chianti, wheels were turning even then. A family was preparing to pick a cat.
An adult cat.
A wonderful cat.
A Chianti cat.
You got it: our not-a-kitten was not overlooked, not this time. Chianti is forever home. (Quoth Bob Costas, “he’s still mighty spry at 6!”)
Of course, we aren’t surprised. Age may not have been entirely in Chianti’s favor, but his soul was. Chianti, of course, had the soul of a cat, a soul species that doesn’t hold onto things. And, when you’re yearning to get a grip on something real, empty hands are the best kind. (Or paws. Or webbed feet. Enter your appendage here.)
Chianti, as you know, had been wronged. He had been returned, rejected, rebuffed repeatedly. He did not begrudge a soul. The bad times were a long-ago night at a single seedy hotel, or an ill-advised potato salad that sat out on the counter too long. Why keep stoking rancid resentments? Let them go cold already. Go on with your life and be so sweet that everyone will want to pick you up and kiss your face. (If you’re Chianti, of course. If you’re human…well, adjust that advice accordingly.)
But if Chianti and his kind don’t nurse grudges, neither do they cling to “good old days.” I guarantee you something: Chianti is not ruing the bloom of youth. The perks of kittenhood were swell, but that was then. That was no golden age, either. Sure, he was “more adoptable” by silly human standards, but he was also getting de-wormed and getting neutered and being eyeballed for adorableness as though he were a prize squash at the county fair: “nope, that one’s not perfect enough.” The good old days were no better than these good now days.
So with empty hands, Chianti happened his way into being held again. Forever.
But lest I leave you with the impression that cats don’t hold onto anything at all, that’s not exactly true. Cats do, in fact, hold onto toys.
Even the old.
Even the exceptionally old.
Even the cancer-fighting, born-in-the-Cretaceous-Period, feathers-and-bones old.
So take a tip from old and young cat souls, amici: hold today up to the light, and let the rest go. Onwards.