When Peet first came to our home 19 some years ago, he was the cutest and sweetest, and meanest orange kitty we had since the Peet before him and the Peet before him.

I like orange cats. They have the same goofy personality, so each orange cat who has ever lived with us is named Peet. Good cats like Peet – you keep, for years and years.

One night when Peet was still a young kitten, around 3 A.M. — this sweet kitty had hollered to go out or come in five or six times, and Ken obliged. Then enough was enough and Ken had had it.

“It’s me or the cat!” he exclaimed so weary, that dark and sleepless night. I made the mistake of laughing and asking Ken where he would go. I learned that night, it’s never a good idea to laugh when anyone is that angry. Still…

The next day, Ken had cut a cat door cut into the entry way, Peet came and went as he liked, and we slept better.

Now, as I write this, neither Ken nor I slept last night, (again), and neither of us is laughing or angry. Peet is not doing well. The move has been hard on him. He is old. I think a bit senile and with the exceptions of short chaperoned stints in the back yard, he is now an indoor cat. He sleeps most of the time, and is a loud snorer. He shits and pees close to the box, and has become a holy terror in the wee hours of the night.

He hollers, as if forgetting we are there. He forgets he just ate, he wanders and wonders where we are. He crawls on our head, purrs and then hisses. If we sit down, he is on our lap faster than any 19 year old cat should move, and if we dare to not give into his way or make him wait for anything… he bites.

It is hard, really hard, both Ken and I are tired. This is also the first post on this bloggy thing where I really hope no one makes any comments. I doubt I am accepting of advice, suggestions, or choosing.

It is just hard and I remember when….