Stupid cancer. It came back to our sweet Little Kitty again. She had surgery today to remove two small lumps from her breast tissue and is now, as they say, "resting comfortably" at home. The cancer could come back, or not. (Let's go with not.)
In the meantime, Little has no idea there was ever anything wrong with her, and we'd like to keep it that way. Except for finding that bumpy place (we check her regularly, since we knew it was likely to recur), we wouldn't have known either. Little is a content, playful, affectionate cat with a good appetite. She loves looking out the window (aka "watching cat TV"), getting brushed, and chasing the laser pointer--when she's not napping in a sunbeam or on her favorite fleecy couch blanket, that is. Simple pleasures.

A typical post-breakfast nap
We, too, take simple pleasure in having Little as part of our family--enjoying the feel of her soft fur, the sounds of her happy purr and sassy meow, the hilarious way she frantically chases the red laser dot. Sharing your life with a pet is a privilege, and one that I don't want to take for granted.
I keep thinking about a passage in Ann Patchett's novel Bel Canto, which I read recently.
"Carmen prayed hard....What she prayed for was nothing. She prayed that God would look on them and see the beauty of their existence and leave them alone."
That pretty well sums up my attitude toward life in the past couple of years. I no longer bother to wish for great things; I just wish for nothing to mess up the good things I already have. And sometimes, I just wish that not too many terrible things will happen all at once, and that's all I can hope for.
Have I lowered my expectations, or just developed a deeper appreciation for life's small joys? I'm not sure. Either way, this evening Anthony and I are reveling in the joy of having our beloved kitty home, purring on her blanket as she recovers.


