Ain’t as good as he once was

There comes a time when you realize things are changing. Often, it involves the aging process and comes with the realization that, as the old country song goes, “I ain’t as good as I once was.”

When us kids were playing sandlot baseball in Hidden Valley, this phenomenon crept up on us. We didn’t realize we were growing up and that, essentially, we had become too big for our sandlot field.

A field that fit us great when we were 10 years old, was no longer large enough to hold the home run bombs hit by strapping 13-year-olds. When one particular blast one-hopped the front door of the house across the street - and narrowly missed numerous windows - we all froze in place awaiting the outcome.

The owner of the vacant lot we were using for our home field was watching, too. When the ball finally landed, he marched out to where our jaws sagged, fully aghast. It was then he spoke five fateful words that ended that particular phase of our childhood.

“Your ballplayin’ days are over!”

With that, we sacked up our lumber and leather and prepared for the onset of adolescence.

Fast-forward to modern times and let’s examine the case of Roger the Cat. He has suffered through the kind of week this week that has to be telling him that his ballplayin’ days are over.

It’s a tough message to embrace.

Over the course of his eight-and-a-half years, Roger has frequently looked out the window, spotted some prey and then went out to conquer it.

The first few years we lived in this house, he displayed hunting prowess with lightning quick reflexes and laser-like focus. Literally, we lost count at how many ‘trophies’ he brought home.

This played out over the course of three years or so. Then, gradually, his skills began to erode. There were fewer trophies; he seemed more interested in naps in the sun rather than hunting in the woods.

This transformation coincided with the anecdotal evidence that we had coyotes in the area. That would certainly explain his reluctance to head “Into the Woods” (because, after all, who can tell what’s waiting on the journey…).

I think he knew that.

The second happenstance was the arrival of a big black cat in the neighborhood. This cat taunted him by walking the perimeter of our property (at the edge of those woods). Roger would do nothing to defend his territory. We never knew why. Maybe he had tried to defend the turf and lost?

This week, we may well have gotten the answer.

He ain’t as good as he once was.

Roger has been beaten up this week - badly. Not once. Not twice. But three times. His latest wounds necessitated a trip to the veterinarian this afternoon. One morning he went outside as I left to go to work. By the time Lisa let him back inside mid-morning, he had suffered the first round of wounds.

But what happened to him when he went outside today was the worst yet. He was battered and beaten. His physical wounds were evident but upon close examination, it was easy to tell that his psychological wounds were even deeper.

And it is obvious to us, too, that he just can’t keep going outside.

Clearly, we’re going to have to help Roger make the transition from outdoor hunter to indoor lap cat. It won’t be easy. He loves to go outside and explore those woods.

But as I told him tonight - as us kids on the sandlot were told so many years ago - his ballplayin’ days are over.

JG

Originally posted 8/2/2012