The Aging of a Murderer

Before Uno’s meow sounded like smoke, before her nails grew so thick to make a clicking sound on the wooden floor, before her body became a bag of bones, she was a murderer. And quite a skilled one. Slight, fast and fearless, Uno did not discriminate. A Starling, a Grackle, a baby squirrel, mice, and hundreds of house sparrows or chickadees* would arrive at the doorstep, a porch, or sentimentally part buried in dirt. Mind you she had a collar and a warning bell so anything she killed was a little slow or already maimed, or deaf.

When it came to birds, however she was not like those who kill for play she killed to eat, munch and crunch---half-eaten birds were strewn about intended (I believe) to send me a message, “Person, who saved me from the colds of Michigan, the Toms who wanted to violate me, just a note –I prefer poultry over fish, thank you.”
Uno the only gray in a world of black fur, was demanding, using her paw to literally slap me awake in the morning. Though she was part of a large cat colony in the beginning of her life –she had no interest in making feline friends. Uno, ranging in weight from 8 to 9lbs in her early years, was highly aggressive towards other cats (and even raccoons) swatting them if they come near her or her food, running them out of her ‘territory’ or perching in order to display dominance.

Eventually Uno aged or mellowed or her aging mellowed her and her kills or desire to kill were less frequent. The perching of a bird did not throw her into overdrive, the wiggle of a worm did not push her into attack mode, she was less curious, less driven, and just seemed more tired--maybe that is aging, the lessening of our spirit, the quieting of our true selves, or surrendering to what is…

The Uno @ 20 is so different from the Uno of her youth and teens. Everything I knew or understood about her: how she likes to sleep (near my legs on a bed), what she eats (chicken in gravy), her places of comfort (high up) to where she likes to be pet is completely unknown. There is very little consistent about her behavior except its inconsistency –how can you tell if she is struggling or uncomfortable since everything she does or acts is new? It is true that aging is an ending but it’s remarkably like our beginnings, where everything is new and we are at our most vulnerable.

My Papa died in his 80’s, full of Parkinson’s, slowing his already slow and soft demeanor. Like many with Parkinson’s the body is the ultimate betrayal, shaking and disintegrating, but keeping the mind unusually attentive. It is a cruel, paradoxical disease. But what if your disease, your sickness (as in Uno) is just aging, what then?
Aging might bring about wisdom or for some a reckoning, but it’s mostly very unjust---stripping away all that is known and replacing it with all unknowns to the self and others. There seems to be little grace as the universe chips away at your being: diffusing your ability to hear (so you do not know if there are predators about), or hindering your body to jump, or your mouth to chew…

There is no shot or infusion or treatment that can quell the disease of aging. The only thing you can do when you age I guess is… live. So she does.

*Uno’s murdering spree led me ironically to being a backyard birder; I felt I should probably know whom she is killing. Chipping Sparrows seemed to be a preference followed by house finches and house sparrows.