Seeing Through Orange Coloured Glasses

And in a fairy tale ending, the handsome prince galloped up to the house on his white steed.

He kissed the paw of the orange haired princess.

The Bad Math Witch’s spell shattered.

The shackles of frozen time released the orange princess.

She lived happily ever after.


Okay, okay. That’s not quite what happened.

But close.


Friends were over a couple of weeks ago and asked how old our orange haired princess, Emma, was.


She appeared as a stray in the backyard October 2006 and the vet pegged her as a Thanksgiving 2005 baby.

Brain cramp.

That’s not right.

She’s been with us for more then 10 years.

How could she be 9?

I distinctly remember the last time we calculated her age.

She was 9.


Oh wait, that was three years ago.

I know that because it happened during an Emma-loses-it-at-anything-that-smells-like-a-vet vet visit.

Wow, that’s been three years?


Guess that shouldn’t come as a surprise.

My age on the scale is coming up five years behind.

Doesn’t matter. Never know how old I am anyway.

Ageless and timeless is the way to go.



Suddenly, it hit me – Emma was 12.


She’s a senior!


We’d long ago accepted her cranky personality.

Emma has OCD and both her hips are bad.

The vet said the joints were such there would be no improvements with surgery.

Low dose happy juice pain meds are a life saver for her. And us.


Of late though, we notice her being a little less tolerant.

And more impatient.

The crankiness is dialed up a notch.

The times when nothing is right in her world, no matter what she asks for and what we give her, Emma’s a bear.


When she wants snuggles, they were supposed to start 10 minutes ago.

Her favourite flavour changes constantly.

The world must stop to make Emma’s world precisely how she wants it.


Just when I start to let exasperation with this new level of cranky get to me, Emma suddenly becomes 12.

She’s allowed to be grumpier.

She’s going to have more aches and pains.

She’s going to have normal aging cat stuff happen.

She deserves a break and an extra dose or twelve of understanding.


Emma did nothing.

She didn’t change a thing.

She’s not who she was.

She’s not who I expected her to be for a certain age.

Emma is who she is now.


But I shifted.

How I see her and her world changed dramatically.

Now more than ever, my responsibility is to be there for her.

To see her not as I want her to be or to fit in my world.

I try to approach life like this, although forgetting and slipping up is far too easy.


Emma’s release from time gifted me the chance to see anew –

not only who she is and what she’s dealing with,

but also who I want to be for her and others in the world.




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Not quite a crazy cat lady (yet?) – Lorraine’s insatiable curiosity of life leads her to explore, question and push beyond the box. A self-professed “left-brained creative big picture idea” type, she has an intuitive knack for seeing possibility everywhere and in everyone, and is a moth-to-flame for being part of making that possibility come true.


  1. Pearl on April 12, 2017 at 4:58 am

    Emma’s a lovely senior.

    I can relate. Although our Millie has always been a bit grumpy, she is more so now – at 20 years old. She knows when it’s meal time and has a demanding meow that’s like an old lady who’s smoked for years. She has also gotten to where she wants to be around me more than before – and grumps if I’m not where she wants me to be or if the day’s pattern seems off to her.

    And yes, I acquiesce to her needs more often than I used to. 🙂

    Hugs to you, Emma, and all your other kitty-kids!

    • Lorraine on April 12, 2017 at 7:01 pm

      Millie sounds like the quintessential 20 year old. She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.

      I was also thinking how quickly a shift in thinking and acceptance comes when I consider there will come a day when Emma isn’t around to demand lap time or get grumpy for no reason. Not the greatest thought, yet has such a profound effect.

      • Pearl on April 13, 2017 at 5:24 am

        Not a great thought, but a real one. The friend, even though they’ve become something of a burden, will still be missed for the good times we shared.

        I often feel that way about Millie.

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