Author: Lastech

Even sitting by the window, he gazes inward. He pays no attention to traffic or birds in flight, he just appears absorbed in thought.

Maybe about his new life, maybe about the younger cats still trying to figure him out… Like kids throwing rocks through the windows of a dilapidated house, they pursue him to shove their nose under his nub.

“It is the nature of youth to play, with their foolish lack of purpose, but to suffer their nose up my tuchus? If two swats do not suffice, a quick bite on the neck shall have them running to their mother’s lap with a yowl.”

Of course, Jenny yelps more from surprise than pain: Titanescu doesn’t bite so much as push on you with his teeth. No, the real protest comes from catching a whiff of halitosis from Grumps. Irony for you, coming from the blue eyed little ball of gas.

But even if he knew his fetid breath for what it actually is, there’s no sign this mild indignity would bother the old hero. He lives each day, each hour as a separate life, spending many hours in contemplation.

He’s a cat who’ll go round and round (slowly) over a spot like a dog before settling down, resting his head against an arm or a leg. We’ve not heard him growl or purr, although he’s inflicted the occasional breathy hiss. We’ve learned his ears tell the story: it is time to stop messing him about when they start twitching. Next will be either a push of the teeth or a punch. I’ll take the teeth thing over the paws, at least they don’t bruise, and I can wipe off the excess spit…

Titanescu is I think the only cat I’ve ever known who would not recoil after hissing or hitting a human. He sits very calmly with a stoic look, not even a hint of feeling, ready to hit again if pushed. No sign of fear whatsoever.

In our defense, I think we’re getting trained faster than either Tito or Jenny, although the giddy temptation to “throw rocks” remains.

You know that old grandpa or scary uncle kids like to sneak dangerously close to when he takes a nap, giggling at the hair growing wild out of his nose and ears? Running away when he wakes up mad?

That’s Titan.

The other day he seemed to nap, at least I thought he was, on Rudha-an’s lap. I pretended to pet him, bringing my hand to a couple inches from his back when “whap!!!” he slapped it lightning quick and hard. His expression didn’t even change and he barely moved. Giggling is tricky too: he doesn’t like when she has a fit of the giggles and makes him shake, and he lets it be known by letting out an almost asthmatic, silent hiss.

Life with the ole tyrant.

It’s not that he knows best, he just knows. And don’t you dare question him you damn kids…

Illuminated by the flash of white-ish fangs…

New item: the old coot, I mean the Marshal, has developed a fondness for sleeping in the crook of my arm. He’ll rest a paw on my forearm, lay his chin on top of it and go to sleep. That seems to be comfortable for him because his breathing quickly becomes deep and regular, his eyes are fully closed and he’ll twitch slightly from dreaming. As he either goes to sleep or slowly awakens I can even feel his very low purr in my arm.

I tried putting an ear against him, but can’t hear it, so low it is.

When you look at his eyes, they seem ‘set’, as if his brow were almost furrowed, in anticipation of something bad to happen. I joked that he looks like the eagle from the Muppet Show, but that’s a look I’ve seen on people as well. Rarely does he open them wider, and he only does that when looking at the other two cats.

He does a lot of watching, more than anything else, and I suspect it’s because pain limits what he can do. When he does romp it usually doesn’t last more than three minutes at most. Better than nothing, but hopefully Tito and Jenny will continue to draw him out further, because things won’t get easier as he gets older and lacks energy to exercise.

While his pain is physical, I’ve wondered about the psychological effects. He is safe to pet until about the shoulder blades. Below that, you’re dancing with the Devil. Thankfully there are some rays of hope now and then.

One positive thing I noticed was that he does not fear us at all: when he slaps or ‘fake’ bites our hand, he doesn’t recoil in fear of being hit or worse. He just sits there staring as if saying ” has the whole world gone CRAZY?”

Jenny has taken to chasing him up the tower and Tito chases him from room to room. It’s not much, but the Marshal likes it and benefits from the exercise: yesterday, he rolled on his back in the ‘dead bug’ position. I wasn’t sure he could even do it, and while we don’t have photo evidence I’m sure we will soon.

Well, three minutes of romping at a time is a start. He does have to save his strength. Just like the Boober moved with more and more economy the sicker he became. And still he continues to last.

Thinking about these older cats this week, and the Klingon (not Vulcan!) kind of love the furry brutes have, makes it easier to understand why pain is both universal and private. Marshal Titanescu has trained me to remain very still when he graces my lap with his presence…