It is often a little sad to get up from lying there, my body stiff from my awkward headrest against the side of the bathtub, that angle cockeyed to my flat sprawl on the bathroom floor linoleum.

It is hard because in the cat bed beside me, kneeling on the folded green towel, he is prone, his little dark brown head peering down at something that is not outside of his eyes.

He sits this way for long spells of time, with runnels of crusty goop under each eye from some irritation which feeds them.

When I have seen into his eyes, his irises are a beautiful aqua blue set within the dark fur on his face, but I do not see them often. He keeps them hidden much of the time behind those white sheaths, the nictitating membranes that suggest his body is not healthy.

Indeed, what do you expect from a cat trapped in a house for several weeks without food?

When you pet him, it is almost uncomfortable because you cannot find a soft area on his body.

A pat on his back, and you feel the nodules of connected bone that comprise his spine. A stroke on his side, and beneath his distinct brown Siamese coat you feel each of his ribs. He is hide and bone, a ball with big ears on hairy twigs that make his body. Even a rub of his scalp betrays some of the damage he carries. There, you feel a raised ridge on his skull, a souvenir of some crack on his head in the past, and your finger sinks into sockets before bone mounds behind his ears.

He is stunned and slow.

He is often nauseous. He cannot eat or drink much, or if he tries to, it ends up later as a little coffee-colored pool of water on the floor.

His movements are abbreviated, and at times as he walks, he wobbles, and you wonder if he will tip.

It is a little sad for a moment because I wonder about him.

I wonder if he will come back.

I wonder if he will make it.

He and I have agreed that there are two places where my contact is appreciated, though.

On the cheeks of his face.

Despite his condition, when he feels okay, he is quick to nosedive his head against the side of my foot, or to push it firmly into my hand. And as I rub his head, and scratch his chin, he holds himself there, drawing off of the exchange whatever power it gives him.

I’m all for it.

He has been with me for a few weeks now, a natural arrangement because he was my aunt’s cat. By no fault of his own, he has been in confinement in the upstairs bathroom, where I hoped I could help him to get some rest and nourishment in quiet, in peace.

Whenever I am at the door to go feed and visit him in the morning and the evening, he is usually out of his cat bed, a carry over from his old home with my aunt, and he is stretching his long body on the floor, moving towards the door.

He is a handsome, long, tall cat, with the rear legs of a jackalope and two long front legs that are grounded by two dainty, black-socked paws. His face is a softened cross between the blocky shape of Zozobra and the sad sullenness of Andy Rooney. But he is not cross. He is just fighting to be here.

I think that is what he is doing.

Whenever I visit him, I see if the water in his water bowl has gone down any.

I check his litter box for signs of digestive activity.

And I sit with him. Or lay by him. Or lay under him. And I pet whatever soft spot I can find on his bony body.

I understand a little bit, uncomfortable cat. Just one day at a time. I’ll do what I can to help you.

When I sit with him, I think about the craziness of the universe right now, and realize I am okay to sit with him in that small space, and just try to search the silence for new options, for hopeful things, for contentment in simple caring.

I recognize in some ways, we are not so different. And in other ways, its a good enough task right now to just try to help a cat find life again.

When my visit ends, he does somehow usually know it, and he goes and stands like a dog waiting for a walk at the bathroom door.

At least he wants to get out, to see what is beyond the door.

And in that behavior, he offers me a lesson about how I should live my life.

I hope we can do that soon, you and I- get beyond the door.

Just keep eating and drinking for me.

Night.