We
have a 16-year old cat, named Benjamin, which means he’s over 100 years old in
human years. You can see that he is getting older. He’s got a cat belly that
hangs down, he has trouble going up and down stairs, and sometimes when he
meows nothing comes out. Despite all that, I want to age like my cat.
If
I was like Benjamin as I got older, this is what a typical day would look like
for me:
I
would sleep until someone gets up to give me some food, and if no one is
downstairs before a specified time each day, say 9:00, I would sit at the
bottom of the stairs and yell, “Hey! Hey you! I’m HUNGRY so come and feed me. I
know you’re up there, so come give me some food. A little water would be nice,
too, preferably without hair in it. Hello? Are you listening? Hello?” At that
point, having expended the energy I have before breakfast, I would go lie down
again and wait for someone to get up. Maybe I’d even go back to sleep again.
When
someone finally got up to feed me, I would run to the table and sit down with
great expectations for the morning meal. However, once the food was brought and
I realized it was the same thing I had for the last 4,357 days, I would start
complaining. “This is it?” I’d say. “This is what I’ve been patiently waiting
for?” I’d look from the plate to the person who brought the food a couple of
times, give it a little stir with a fork, maybe give it a little sniff, and
then just sit there for a bit. “You know, you’ve given me the same thing every
day for the last…” (Being old I wouldn’t remember how many days it had been) “…month
and I’m tired of this” I’d say.
When
it became apparent that I wasn’t going to get anything else, I’d start eating. After
a few bites I would go sit on the couch and talk loudly, to no one in
particular, about what was going on in my world. “You know, I really didn’t
sleep that well last night. You left me down here all by myself all night, and my
bed isn’t the most comfortable thing I’ve ever been on. Then I have to wait
FOREVER for my breakfast and you give me the same old, BORING food. Well, I’m
not going to eat that slop!” After looking around and seeing nobody listening
to me, I’d go back to the table, eat some more food, and drink my orange juice.
After going to the bathroom, I’d probably go back to sleep, being tired from
all that eating and complaining.
Around
noon, I’d get up and eat a little lunch, drink some water, go to the bathroom
again, and then I’d walk around the house talking to myself. “Why does it
always seem like no one is around? Where is everybody? Hello? IS ANYBODY HERE?
Hello?” I’d suddenly stop, overcome by a horrible thought. “Oh my gosh. Maybe
it’s me! Maybe nobody likes me! I’ve become a crotchety old man. What am I
gonna do?” After realizing that was crazy talk, I’d walk around the house once
or twice more, mumbling something unintelligible, and then I’d go back to sleep.
What else am I going to do all afternoon?
After
sleeping for most of the afternoon, I’d somehow force myself to get up. As soon
as I saw another human, I would run to the table, waiting for my next meal to
come. If they walked past me, I’d yell after them, “Hey. Hey you! I’m hungry
here. Can’t you see I’m waiting for some food? Don’t you just ignore me and
walk away! Hey…HEY!” Thinking quickly, I would go after them and endear myself
to them. I’d go sit close to them and in a soothing voice I’d ask them how
their day was, how things were going. I’d stare intently into their eyes,
waiting for their answer. If one wasn’t coming, I’d put my hand on their leg
until they gave me their attention or pushed me away…whichever came first. Then
I’d go back to the table and wait for dinner, elbows on the table, sour face in
my hands.
After
eating, I’d get myself cleaned up and then I’d go to bed, having dreams of
being a young, frisky guy again. I’d be scoring an amazing goal or getting the
game winning hit as the crowd went wild – until I realized the noise was just
my thunderous snoring that woke me up. I’d turn over and then sleep until
someone came to give me breakfast and we’d start all over again.
If
I live to be as old as Benjamin I’ll probably have a belly that hangs down,
I’ll have trouble going up and down stairs, and there may be times where
nothing comes out when I speak. As long as someone brings me some food, I
should be okay.
