old man

I still remember him as the tiniest little boy, his ears bigger than his entire body.

He shook when I first held him.

Later that afternoon, I carried him in my hand as I bought his first bag of cat food.

He was a very good traveler.

I briefly considered naming him Ferdinand, for his peaceful sweetness.

He liked to climb into the front pocket of my sweatshirt and have me carry him around the house.

But in the end, Fergus Duncan MacTavish won out.

He seemed Scottish.

He was very distinguished.

Fancy even.

He is picky with whom he chooses to spend his time.

Not everyone makes the cut.

But he always, always, always makes time for me. Becoming that squishy-faced love muffin I knew those many years ago.

Now I see gray in his goatee.

It makes me sad that he doesn't move as fast--

that he doesn't climb underneath the hall rug--

or fit into my pocket--

or try to jump on Phoebe's head (those were some funny moments).

But I don't tell him that.

I tell him that the gray just makes him look more distinguished.

What do you think?