I love this picture of Connie and Reynaldo. It shows how comfortable they are with one another, what good friends they are. And so I feel much better about leaving them alone, knowing they will keep one another company.
Yet it shows Connie bright eyed and alert, and Reynaldo asleep. My little beige demon, my skinny wildman, sleeps more and more. More and more often. More and more soundly.
He's 15 years old. That's the equivalent of a 75 year old human.
He still enjoys food and he's mad about cuddles. He gets bored if I sleep too long and knocks things over to get my attention. And, at least twice a day that I witness, he chases Connie around. So he's not in any distress today.
But I can see it. He's fading.
Just like with John, it hurts me to see this.
Things hit me harder these days, and stay with me longer. I don't know why I can't shake the blues.
These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
You've given Gentleman Rey such a loving life.
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