Oscar Wilde is my sassy old man. He is 19, enjoys sleeping on my head, patches of sunshine, curling in a little ball, and his brothers. He is so sweet and patient with the babe, who insists on carrying him around. Oscar doesn’t have much of a sense of smell, so it takes extra attention to keep him eating. For years I’ve worried about his health, and there may be something sinister going on beneath the surface, but Oscar is a constant reminder to live in the present. Whatever his troubles may be, he is happy and loving every day, giving us all a purr and a head bump.