Birthdays: 21 at 40

 Well, just like that it happened. Bentley turned 21 years old, and I turned 40. We looked at each other with some disbelief and I knew what Bentley was thinking "How did this happen so fast?" When he opened his mouth and surprised me with something I should have expected: a plea for more food, please, make it quick if you don't mind. 

2002, Twenty years ago when Bentley turned one and I turned 20.

We feasted on fish today to celebrate his birthday, 21 years later. 

I promised myself that I would take pictures of him celebrating his 21st birthday to make the occasion with some festivity. But the reality is that around his birthday, he got awfully skinny and I wasn't sure if he would keep plugging along for much longer. He lost weight (lucky him) from 9 pounds to 5 pounds and looked more like a mouse than a cat. After a trip to the vet, and a change in his medicine I didn't see much improvement till the wise words of my dad, Master Cat Sergeant, fell on my ears, "Listen to the cat!" So I did, I heard Bentley, oh how I heard him... he meowed, he howled, he darted in-between my feet like an Olympic figure skater darting away from my clumsy stomp within fractions of a millimeter. Why? All in the name of food. Indeed, his usual portion wasn't enough, he said. Like Oliver Twist, he was asking for more. I figured, why not give the old thing a bit more? After all, he will die soon anyway so let him have it. So, each time Bently begged for more food, more food I served him. He is now eating three times the amount he ate his entire life! (That can't possibly be healthy! I know, but he is 21... so why not?...) Slowly but surely the increase in food, with an increase in his medicine made him grow from mouse to meatball.

Table for one, please.

 

Michelin Star restaurant

Pesche al Gattone Amalfitano

Then a few months later, I woke up with a stiff back and it sang Happy Birthday to me as I creaked out of bed, into my flip-flops and went to the mirror to discover a fresh thread of white hair. In years past, my birthday has always been an occasion for huge festivities in this house. My birthday is a month long excuse to eat cake, buy flowers, and whenever questioned respond with the biggest smile, "But it's my birthday!" My creaky back and I contemplated pounding down an array of delicate foods, but at 40, it seemed that any mix of them could be quite toxic at worst, or hard to digest at best. The day was spent quietly drawing in Annapolis.

 Lingering questions bubbled to my mind and I quickly silenced them by ignoring them: "What have you learned by 40?" and "How the heck did this happen?" The second question I asked my dad, who in my opinion would be 40 eternally, and his response made sense, "Well, ya didn't die."

Happy Birthday to my lovely mother as well, she gets to party on my birthday just as much as I do!

In Germany, my second birthday :)

I recalled prior birthdays and how much fun, or horrible they were, most of them were fun. Here are a few:

1. Turning 6 years old in San Antonio: my mom got me two pairs of shorts because it was so hot. One pair was pink, one was purple, both had ruffles. I felt like the queen of shorts. I remember we had a wonderful party outside of our house, where all my little neighborhood friends came and we ate what felt like boatloads of cake and ice cream. I remember having a cocker spaniel puppy then, Misty, who was my best friend. I was as brown as a tree trunk from playing outdoors and was convinced that one day I would grow up and sing Dancing Queen with Abba.

My 5th birthday at Abuelita's. I couldn't find a picture of my 6th. 

2. Turning 7 years old in Mexico City: my Abuelito (grandpa), took me to the market to pick a piñata. It was a serious occasion and he held my wrist tightly among the traffic as he walked briskly and I jogged to keep up with him. The piñata section of the market was dazzling. No doubt Dali and Frida Kahlo would have loved it. We walked underneath of hundreds and hundreds of pinatas swaying overhead like giant balloons. He squinted at the pintatas with somewhat of a grimace, no doubt thinking of all the little brats that would soon bombard his home, screaming joyfully and shattering his peace. He picked a nice big white and blue bear piñata for me and asked me if I liked it. I loved it. I couldn't imagine breaking such a beautiful piñata. After that, we walked to the candy section of the market that was lined, floor to ceiling, with endless rows and rows of candy and toys to stuff the piñata. Abuelito must have spent a fortune as he requested bags upon bags of different types of candy and little plastic toys. Lastly, we went to the fruit section. He told me that when he was a boy, they filled their piñatas with fruit. He requested oranges from the man at the fruit stand. That evening, Abuelito sat above the party on the second floor of the house, the rope to the piñata to control pulling it up, tightly in his hand. He chuckled to himself as he made it nearly impossible for anyone to break the piñata. He gave the littlest children the easiest time letting the piñata get close enough for them to bump with the broomstick, but when it came to the older children, they didn't stand a chance. He pulled the piñata quickly so high it would have been easier for them to hit the moon than the piñata with the broomstick. Finally, my American Gringo Dad got a turn, old Moose got the broom stick in his hands like a lacrosse stick, he was blindfolded and determined to bust the candy of of this fluffy bear piñata, he swung the broomstick so hard he nearly took out small children. Mothers screamed pulling their little ones behind them, dads laughed watching the Gringo try his best, then my dad swung and hit and broke a lantern in the driveway. But, that didn't stop him, he kept swinging his heart out determined to win the World Series of Piñata breakers.... my Abuelito, no doubt, decided to save the rest of the driveway lanterns, and lowered the piñata bear low enough to let me dad swing and crack it open, saving children, parents, and driveway lanterns from potential harm. 

3. Turning 28 in Venice when I lived in Italy. I know... sounds dreamy. It was. I woke up (that's usually a good start on a birthday) and realized that I had a unique opportunity this birthday.... So I called my good friend Megan and asked her if she was interested in coming with me to Venice. She obviously said yes. Thirty minutes later we boarded the train in Desenzano del Garda, and headed east to Venezia. We feasted on typical Venetian fare: McDonalds, cappuccinos, and French bignets. We were both thrilled to be there, wandering the streets and canals, and enjoying the less crowded streets near the harbor. It was a beautiful birthday. 

I have a mental list of ongoing things I enjoy and have found that I deeply dislike by 40. No doubt those will change within the next few years. Bentley too has a list of things he enjoys and dislikes. 

On his list of favorites are:

1. Constant food

2. Gentle head pats

3. A solid bed

4. Occasional laxative to "help"

5. Couch hoping at 8 to get pet by each person on their couch. Very disruptive to any show.

Dislikes:

1. Energetic puppies....sigh....

2. Being ignored

3. Being left alone for more than 1 hour (Lady, you abandoned me!)

4. Going outside (he no longer enjoys this....)

5. Getting brushed because he's old and everything is sensitive to touch

I have absolutely loved the last 21 years with my old Bentley. No doubt if Fatty were here, I would be thinking of all the things he loved and hated. He was way more picky than Bentley. Thank you for sharing our birthdays with us!