Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
Old Hydrox has become a frequent singer in his dotage. Jeanne described the ones happening several times per night lately as ‘annoying’. And I haven’t found a way to discourage him doing it, nor thought of any explanation.
I tend to think he misses being around several cats, possibly [especially] Niaid, his litter-mate who went on permanent mouse patrol slightly over a year ago in Andrews, Texas. We were all together 17 years, so I’d imagine if a cat’s capable of ‘missing’ another creature Niaid is one of his night songs.
On the other hand, it’s clear Shiva is a part of all this. He’ll walk over and sit on the floor in front of the chair where she’s sleeping and begin the serenade until he runs out of lyrics. Sometimes it’s Sweet Betsy from Pike, other times Otis Redding or Roy Orbison. Fortunately that usually happens during the hours of daylight.
The night songs seem to be triggered by dreams, or by Shiva creeping through the living room where Hydrox and I bed down. She has to go by here on the way to the litter box, a few laps of water, or to check out the food dishes. And there’s no way she’s getting past here without the keen ears of Hydrox detecting it, head jerking around to stare.
Usually he’ll contemplate what he’s seen until she passes on her return trip. Then he’ll jump to the floor and follow her with his immortal prose or a few stanzas of Pretty Woman Walk on By. Or My Girl.
If he had a better command of English and had ever shown any signs of being susceptible to reasoned argument or persuasion I’d try it. But a whispered 2:00 am yell at him only results in a brief pause and stare. Getting up and chasing him around also only gets me back under the blankets with my teeth chattering and him carrying on where he left off.
Maybe I misinterpreting the song. Hydrox might just be saying, “This getting old is hell. I surely do miss ambition.”
Cyrano de Bergerac remembering the moon.
Old Jules
So Far From Heaven 