Saturday, November 06, 2010

POINT/COUNTER-POINT:
Age is Just a Number

WHO YOU CALLIN' OLD?!
by Kukka-Maria

The Agent used to be consistent with the food she provided. While trying to pinch pennies in the last many months, she has switched it up. Every week, she comes home with a new food and, every week, said food is somehow more repulsive than the former. Many a day, I have shaken my head in disgust and proclaimed, “There cannot be ANYTHING worse than this!”

Then she walks in the door with a bag of worse.

She promises when she gets rich (again), she will spring for the good stuff, but I have a hard time believing her. That, however, is not my main concern. My main concern is that today, she unleashed something more diabolical than the most bitter, foul food she has purchased thus far.

I am talking about senior food. SENIOR FOOD!

“You are getting older, Kukka-Maria. I know you don’t acknowledge it, but it is happening, sweets,” she said.

Eff that. I am just as super-sexy and lean as I have ever been! (Editor’s Note: Clearly, Kukka-Maria does not fully understand the definition of “lean.”) I run sometimes…to the food bowl. I do yoga…when I clean my lady-business. I eat healthy…unless I am sneaking food off of The Agent’s plate.

And. I. Am. NOT. OLD!

I am 11. When The Agent was 11, she was with friends, playing yard-games, and discovering boys! How is lying around, farting, and napping all day any different than dancing enthusiastically to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller?” Apples to apples!

Yes, while I was born with grays, I am starting to find them amidst my blacks. Yes, I used to have more energy. And, yes…I am (claw quotes) “ripening,” but I am not a senior…SENIOR!

Eff.



YOU ARE NO SPRING CHICKEN, CAT.
by The Agent

You are getting older, Kukka-Maria. I know you don’t acknowledge it, but it is happening, sweets.

I have not wanted to admit it, either! When you lumber down the hallway and stand to claw the doorframe, I still see the sprite youngster who would RACE down the hall and LEAP to hang from the doorway—4 feet up. When you eat at the bowl, lie down for a rest, then get back up to continue eating, I still see the itty-bitty-kitty who chomped her first bites in my home. The kitten who, after filling her tummy, walked around and around my head on my shoulders. You threw your tiny body against my cheek in appreciation.

SO WHY ARE YOU SO UNGRATEFUL NOW? (I choose to avoid the “tiny body” vs. current state issue.)

I buy you food. I buy you treats. I buy you toys. I buy you litter (I sometimes fail to scoop; that is not the issue at-hand). I think, if you had a concept of money (other than that which has been shoved in your g-string….no, I have not forgotten May 18-19, 2001) you would have a greater appreciation and be glad that I even PROVIDE food for you! If I am buying, I am choosing!

And…You are old. OLD! Get used to it! It happens to all of us and, quite frankly, we should be happy to grow old. The alternative is to be dead.

As for the gray hair, sis? When I decide to address my own, we can discuss addressing yours. As for now? Work to extract them with your scratchy tongue while grooming.