I, Tomcat Miekesch, the Redhead, belong to the toughest of my kind! For more than twenty years now, I have managed, day after day, to outwit old Boindlgramer himself (also known as Death).

After my last senior check-up at the veterinarian ten years ago, I made a firm decision: from that day forward, I would avoid veterinarians the way the devil avoids holy water and trust only my own body instead. After all, as I once read in a cat guidebook, your own body is the best doctor for ninety percent of all ailments that may befall you.

Thankfully, I have never needed the remaining ten percent. By some mysterious stroke of luck, I have been spared any truly serious accidents throughout my long Methuselah-like life.

Well... there was that one time I burned my feline back. Blinded by my greed for grilled sausages, I parked my curious fur directly beneath a blazing barbecue and ended up scorching a patch of my beautiful rusty-red coat. But better to lose a bit of fur than to lose one's mind, I thought to myself as the wise old tomcat that I am.

So I allowed my beloved human lady to patch me up at home, and by the very next day I was already bouncing around the garden again, alive and well. A little poorer in fur perhaps, but considerably richer in experience.

The money I save by skipping my annual senior check-ups is much better invested in juicy cat food and the occasional delicious treat that brings joy to both my heart and soul, sweetening every additional day of my surprisingly long life.

Of course, hardship is also part of growing old. That means being forced, every now and then, to survive on dry cat biscuits with all the flavor and texture of an old leather shoe. My human lady, like so many others, keeps a close eye on her purse. And so, just as in my food bowl, life is not always high tide. Sometimes there is low tide as well. Long live the tides, my friends!

As long as I have fresh water available every day, I am perfectly content. I drink it by the gallon, greedily vacuuming it up as though I were a furry little water pump. Other cats spend all their money on food, while I prefer to drink mine. As my old, fur-covered grandmother used to say when she was still among the living: everyone has their own priorities.

Although my ears no longer perform quite as well as they once did, I can still hear everything I actually want to hear. For example, the glorious clatter of a freshly filled food bowl that my dear human rattles with loving anticipation.

Other sounds, however, somehow fail to reach me. Such as complaints regarding the sharpening of my razor-sharp claws on the new sofa, especially when my human lady suffers one of her dramatic fits because I have once again failed to control my velvet paws.

My dear ladies and gentlemen, old age does have its advantages.

As you can clearly see, being almost deaf is sometimes one of them.

Another highlight of my remarkably long feline life is the coconut-oil-covered feet of my esteemed human female.

Nothing delights me more than carefully licking the exotic-smelling oil from her feet, inch by inch, with my rough cat tongue, all while grunting and smacking my lips in complete satisfaction. Meanwhile, the lady of the house receives a complimentary foot massage.

And then people dare to claim that an elderly red-and-white tomcat serves no useful purpose!

My own feet, on the other hand, depend entirely on the condition of the day. Sometimes they function beautifully, moving with the precision of fine clockwork. On other days, however, I stagger around as stiffly as a giraffe, while my human family cruelly bursts into laughter and claims I look like a stuffed sock that has seen far better days.

Just imagine such outrageous insults, dear readers!

At moments like these, one is truly grateful for the merciful cloak of partial deafness, which spares an elderly gentleman from hearing every offensive remark directed his way.

Honestly, there are times when it is impossible to satisfy the humans in my family.

Nevertheless—or perhaps precisely because of this—I have always preserved my wonderfully biting sense of humor.

And I have set myself a very ambitious goal:

I intend to make it into the Guinness Book of Records.

When my two-legged family has long since moved into retirement homes, I shall still be stretched out comfortably in the garden sunshine, grooming my magnificent coat, proudly twirling my whiskers, and thanking the good Lord for my seemingly endless life.

For I, Tomcat Miekesch, the Redhead, have no intention whatsoever of allowing old Boindlgramer to claim victory anytime soon.

After all, somebody has to keep an eye on the garden.

Somebody has to supervise the food bowls.

Somebody has to inspect the barbecue whenever sausages are involved.

And above all, somebody has to ensure that no drop of coconut oil goes to waste.

As long as these sacred duties remain unfulfilled, I simply cannot retire from this world.

Boindlgramer will have to wait a little longer.