rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Declining Day

I've been watching the light fade. The rooms are dimmed first, and their contrast diminished as the shafts of light leave the windows and are displaced by shade. Outdoors, the light is still bright, but fragmented by leaves and branches as the sun nears the horizon. The sky seems to grow brighter as the land falls into shade. For a while, the contrast between indoors and out grows greater. The sun sets, and shadow seems to seep from the ground, draining up into the darkening sky. With a last outburst of song, the birds flutter about and then depart. I turn on the lights in the house. They seem faded and weak after the glory of day.

The cat has been sleeping all day, rising a couple of times for a drink of water, then returning to the living room chair she has chosen for her prolonged nap. This is the first time in months that she has spent the day sleeping there, rather than in my room. Asleep, she is much the same picture she has always been, peaceful and relaxed; but on her brief forays to the water bowl her movements are stiff and awkward, and when she mews at all the sound is low and plaintive. She is as faded as the vanished day.

I wonder if she is dreaming, and of what? Maybe she has spent the day stalking birds or gophers, or playing with her four kittens (all but one of whom she has outlived.) Maybe she dreams of her long-ago encounter with a raccoon, from which her back still carries a series of long scars. Maybe she is merely dreaming of her lost youthful agility, running and leaping, climbing trees, walking surefootedly along the narrow rail of a wooden fence. Maybe she dreams of being snuggled and petted, purring with satisfaction after a good meal. I wonder if she has any idea what is happening to her? Yesterday, as the light faded, she went out for a few minutes and sniffed a few of her old familiar haunts and nibbled a bit of grass. That may have been her last trip outdoors.

In a few minutes, I will close the drapes of the dimmed room, and the window, which now reveals only darkness, will be concealed until morning, and the song of crickets will be dampened. The cat lies in the chair, no longer concerned with what I do. She flicks a whisker, and her tail twitches. Does she dream of seeing a tasty mouse? An appealing wad of paper to be batted about? One of my socks to be tossed into the air? However long the night, pleasant dreams, sweet cat.
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