Lifespans
Lifespans. The word came to me this morning as I watched the big garden spider tend its web on the corner of the back porch. It has about a year to do its business. Catch food. Find a mate. Lay eggs. Then I watched a mosquito fly by. It has two weeks to two months to pack in its living. The little black cat that called our place home got about ten years before feline cancer brought its life to an end yesterday. I’ve had 80 so far, while my late wife only got 70.
The bottom line is that everything living has a lifespan, an indeterminate period of time in which to live and maybe procreate, which appears to be the main point of things, to make more of yourself. The little black cat didn’t get that chance, because he was fixed, because we have too many feral cats as it is. Although, feral cats might disagree with that assessment. I now have a tom on the porch in the morning looking for food and sex. He’s unlucky in the latter because momma cat is fixed. He will be too, if I ever catch him.
The basic goal for me these days is to shorten my gaze and stop thinking about how much time might be left to me. Being keenly aware of just how little I know, I’ve got a counselor to help me figure out how to do it. We’ve only had three sessions, but it feels promising. Generally speaking, I’m pretty good at shifting my paradigms, but sometimes I need help, an ear to bend, a voice to whisper in my ear, that everything will be alright.