#ThisIs20

I was still in university when I found this ragamuffin kitten, sprawled-out sleeping on the sofa in the dorm's lobby. I could only surmise that someone coming back from the bar the night before had let her in out of the -20C November cold. I am still thankful to that person.

I took her to the vet, which doubled as the humane society in my small university town. They said they would advertise in the local paper for three days, but if no one claimed her by then, they would have to put her down.

I told them to call me in three days.

I named her Princess--inspired by the word on a keychain I had at the time, it seemed fitting regardless, given her paper-bag-princess appearance when I found her.

And so began our journey together.

I remember thinking, "wow, I'll be, like, in my mid-30s by the time she lives her full life." It seemed like such a long way off. I couldn't fathom being that old. (Don't even.)

And yet, here we still are.

Akira is my sweet snuggler; Holly is my flirty delight; but, Princess is my OG.

She watched me become a fully-fledged adult, and came along for the ride. Princess has moved house with me eight times. She has been with me through a marriage and divorce. Through friendships that have lasted and others that have not. And through one pandemic.

She likes to be where I am. She has been both my study buddy and work buddy. She oversees my gardening, and occasionally nestles beside me in the hammock. She still greets me at the door when I come home. She still gives kisses.

She is 20.

I look at her bowed legs and stiff gait, and I know that this year could be her last. (And then she chases Holly's toy around the living room with an energy that belies her age, and I'm convinced she's going to be the first cat to live forever.) The vet continues to tell me that she looks amazing for her age. She's on some meds for pain and mood, but as long as she continues to eat, pee, and poop, I guess we'll continue on together.

I am happy to be her human as long as her little heart beats.