Long in the Tooth

A cat's bicuspid looks remarkably like a bit of lost pretzel when it's on your floor.

I looked in at the fish on my way by, on Saturday, and then looked down at the floor. It confused me, since I haven't eaten pretzels in years, and I've never seen M-C with a bag. Maybe she goes crazy for the dessicated bread when I'm not around, I thought. Ah well.

I picked it up.

In my hand, it didn't actually look much different from a bit of pretzel. But enough different. Different enough that I looked closer than I generally do at bits of garbage I pick up off the floor. The colour was a bit light, one end was kind of...

Pointy?

Without checking her mouth, I knew it was a tooth, though I called her to the main floor and confirmed in short order.

And then picked her up and held her tight.

She's showing her age, badly, these days. Her spine is bony, her skin is dry, the lost teeth make her drool, she's stiff getting up and down. Her trek up the stairs this morning took longer than it should have. Would have, even a few months ago.

In many ways, she makes me crazy. Wanting my hands for petting when I need them for typing. The silver fur everywhere. Yowling for food at 6 am. The hives and itchy eyes I get if I'm not careful petting her.

But such a lovely purrer. She is calm and sweet, and I have fallen asleep crying into her fur more times than I would like to say. She has taken better care of me than I probably have of her.

I don't want her to get old, and I don't want her to die.