As 2011 began with the sound of distant and invisible fireworks somewhere in the night our old cat Sabrina entered her fourth decade.

She was born to a feral mother in the autumn of 1989 in the garage of one of my Rochester neighbors and so her exact birthday is unknown. I remember going into the garage, out of blowing snow flurries. It was like stepping into a still, icy pool, somehow colder inside than out. The kittens I chose from were all weaned by then so it is likely Sabrina was born around the middle of September.

My kids named her. Why they chose the name I can't say. That was so long ago it was in another life.

She has accompanied me as the decades rolled by and my life changed. She has been with me through divorce and remarriage, losing my job and making a living as a freelancer. She has moved around New York state and finally down to Pennsylvania. She's been around through the nineties and the twenty oughts (or whatever you call them) and now here we are in 2011. She's lying in my lap as I type.

There can't be many cats who see four different decades. I've only seen seven myself.

The arrival of the new year inevitably reminds me of the swift passage of time. My usual thought is that we may not have as much time left as we imagine. But contemplating our ancient purring cat it occurs to me that we might also have more time than we might reasonably expect.