Middle Aged Crazy

My cats and I are growing old together. And I think we all agree it sucks. The "growing old" part that is -- the "together" part is still cool.

With their last birthday, the Celie-ettes turned the equivalent of 44 human years old. That puts them well in the mid-part of their lives. Let's just say I've been there a little longer.

Out of nowhere, I seemed to have sprouted those unsightly skin tags on my neck that we used to call "Maw Maw beads" when I was a kid. Koko is sporting a white whisker he didn't used to have.
We're all grappling with aches, pains and limited range of movement. My air conditioning went out last weekend which means my back also went out after umpteen billion trips up to the attic to shop vac the drain pan and haul down the results. I've been hobbling hunched over ever since.

This morning Sammy landed flat-footed when he attempted one of his patented Superman leaps to the top of the bathroom door. Time was he could ace that move blindfolded. He's been staring at the door with this befuddled WTF look all day.

We go to bed earlier than we used to ... and have a harder time getting up. We're all a mite testier these days. And one of us has started using words like "mite" and "testy."

We're spending more time (and money) at the doctor's /vet's office. As the cats grow older they seem to stay on urinary tract health meds and laxatives. So far, I've managed to stay off those, but I have now officially joined the high cholesterol club. I have the prescription to prove it.

I think that medicine is just the beginning of what my 12-year-old doctor (and I am exaggerating only slightly ) has planned for me.

After I proudly told him I don't have a regular family physician because I am never sick, Dr. "Doogie" gave me a long lingering stare and said, "Miss Cathy you better get one because you are getting to be 'that age'."

Oh, "that age."

"That age" where long lingering stares from guys "his age" won't be followed up by offers to buy me a drink and other offers that will get his face slapped.

I have a feeling the only drink Dr. Doogie will ever offer me will involve barium. Rest assured, I will be the one paying for it.

But I'll probably still want to slap his face. Especially if he calls me "Miss Cathy" again.