My cat is old.  Hobbes came into our lives when my son was a sophomore in high school. Now my son is a father with his own cat and Hobbes is seventy-two in human years.

I love Hobbes. He’s affectionate and lets you know exactly how he feels. The first time I traveled to Australia and back, he peed in my open suitcase, which I had left open by the washing machine upon returning home. He was ‘pissed off’ that I had left him.

Hobbes is a lover. He sleeps on my husband’s chest when I’m out of town, just because my husband misses me; and he meets me at the door every time I come home.

Hobbes used to be an excellent jumper. He was de-clawed by his prior owner, who in the twilight years of her life moved across the country to be with her family. But Hobbes doesn’t see himself as ‘handicapped’ or different. He managed to get to places in the house where I marveled at his flexibility, strength, and agility.

Hobbes can’t do that anymore. He’s lucky to get on the kitchen countertop with the help of a nearby chair. It breaks my heart when I see him jump and miss. Just like Hobbes, I can’t jump as far or run as fast as I used to.

Hobbes is on special food for his digestion and teeth and pukes every time I let him eat too much grass. Just like me, he must watch what he puts in his mouth.

For Hobbes, it is just how it is. He is completely in the moment of being a cat and enjoying his cat life. It’s amazing what wonderful reflections, mirrors and companions our pets can be. They add such richness and joy to our lives.

Here is to you Hobbes. Thanks for gracing us with your presence. I’m glad to be one of the humans in your life.