Tea with Logan

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Tea With Logan

My right hand grasped a steamy cup of Sleepytime Tea drizzled with honey. My left hand proffered a warmed dish of Weruva chicken to Logan who was reclined in the softest bed on the buffet overlooking the leaves swaying in the warm spring winds. Hard to believe he has made it to his fourteenth birthday.

Officially named Loganberry, he answers to Logan, Berry, Berryboy, Sweetness, Golden Boy and Lovey. In a piece about him years ago, I called him the soul in a room of dear hearts. He still was that even though he has slowed down more than a bit.

No longer does he turn over the garbage or scatter the recycles on the tile - in part because I’ve learned to keep it out of his territory - but mostly because mayhem is no longer alluring to him. It has been months even since he has opened a door into a closed off room. Now, his rambunctious heart is content to sleep by a window or watch the yard doings.

They all feel it – the deep love of Logan – no matter how hard I try to make each other cat feel special. They all know Logan is the special one; surprisingly they accept that and treat him with deference and love.

At times other needs had superseded the lavishing of love on Logan. For instance, when after a year and a half of twice weekly subcutaneous fluids Laurel hid when the needle appeared, I had resorted to mixing a can of Wellness turkey with a can of water, warming it in the microwave and holding it for her so no others would preempt her share. Logan waited for the leftovers.

Then, when Tiki had a bad day and asked for a jar of baby food meats by sitting in front of the cabinet where it was stored, Logan watched. He never begrudged Tiki a single lick of the tasty treat, but now he used her trick to get a jar for himself.

Kitten Logan suffered a URI that took months to cure. He alone was allowed to sleep on my bed, originally to be able to rush him into a steamy shower when needed. To this day my ankle pillows his head each night, although now and then he will sprawl across my chest with his nose touching my chin.

I nursed the soothing tea while Logan favored me by deigning to take a nibble here and a nibble there. Finally, he began slurping the gravy around the edges - finishing it all before he began the real work of the shredded chicken. Meanwhile, Harrigan was waiting for Logan’s remains just as Logan had done with Laurel years ago.

No lie, this little ritual takes time and not a little patience. Sometimes Logan waits to see if I will spoon the warm chicken onto his tongue or Patches tries to snare the plate. Sometimes, waiting chores scream at me to get them done.

How long Logan has I cannot tell. Love and meds are extending what might have been a short life. So each morning and sometimes again in the evening, I will hold a plate of warm food for my Beloved and treat myself to a cup of tea during these quiet moments of which I pray there are a great many.

Madelyn McCarroll
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