It’s been a curious few days.

If you’d asked a week ago, I’d have said my sweet Ned would likely be gone by now. Not only is this not the case (thank you, God!), but he seems . . . brighter.

I can’t explain it, but I’ve known this cat for more than fourteen years, and I know what I see.

For instance, on Monday, I picked Ned up and walked over to the window. The carcass of a stink bug is caught in the screen. (It was alive on Sunday, as was the much larger insect on the exterior window frame. Apparently, the big guy had himself a snack, leaving a husk with legs stuck in my screen.) As soon as I stopped beside the window, Ned perked up, his attention fixed on the dead bug. After a few seconds, he began surveying the backyard. It was the most alert I’ve seen him in days.

On Tuesday, as I was working, Ned came to the office door and mewed for a treat. He did this all summer, often multiple times throughout the afternoon, but he’d pretty much stopped in the past few weeks. He did it again on Wednesday afternoon. Obviously, both times, I immediately stopped work and took him to the kitchen for a Squeeze-Up, his favorite treat (and one he can eat). On Tuesday, he ate half; on Wednesday, he ate nearly an entire one.

I hand-feed Ned while the others eat from their dishes; it’s our routine. After he’d finished his dinner on Wednesday and I put him down, he didn’t head straight back to his basket in the bedroom. Instead, he wandered through the living room and stopped in the bathroom for a drink of water. I left him to his own devices and went into the bedroom to fold laundry. When he came in, he walked around the room as if checking out a new place rather than making a beeline for his basket.

So, I picked Ned up and put him on the bed. A few weeks ago, I frequently found him sleeping on the bed, but this, too, has waned in recent days. Now, he stood for a minute, surveying the room. Then, he lay down and looked at me.

My plan had been to change the sheets, but there was no way I was going to disrupt Ned on the bed. Instead, I lay down next to him and stroked him and told him what a good boy he is and how much I love him.

Then, Ned booped his nose against mine. And he did it again. And again.

He has never done this before.

Ned has always been a sweet, affectionate kitty, but not like this. He’s the kind who will curl up next to you on the sofa, and he’s happy to be petted, but he isn’t a lap cat. Practically the only time he initiates physical contact is when he rubs against my leg to get my attention. He’ll tolerate being held and carried, though it’s not his favorite thing. When he comes up on the bed to sleep with me, his chosen spot is usually a few inches away from me.

But initiating nose-to-nose contact? In fourteen years, this was a first.

We continued lying on the bed together as the news came on. One by one, three of the other cats joined us, angling for attention. In typical fashion, Ned ignored them, and they ignored him. I got up only once, and that was to see whether there was an unused catnip toy in the jar in the kitchen. There wasn’t, but there was some catnip, a baby sock, and a roll of thin cloth ribbon, so I made him a quick catnip toy since he has always adored catnip. I knew it was a long shot, and indeed, he gave it a quick sniff before rejecting it, but it was worth trying.

About halfway through Stephen Colbert’s interview with Senator Fetterman, Ned decided he was tired of being on the bed. He hopped down, went into the bathroom for another drink, and jumped up on his shelf in the hall closet, where he stayed until it was time for his bedtime snack and meds.

As I wrote most of this, Ned was back in his basket, sound asleep. Just as I finished, he woke up and strolled out of the bedroom into the hall, just as if it were any night. When he came back, he stood in the doorway and mewed at me. Since he just had his bedtime food an hour ago, it didn’t make sense that he wanted more food. So, I picked him up and set him on the bed, and now he’s next to me as I write, eyes half-closed as if he’s determined not to sleep until I do.

I have no idea what the morning will bring. I don’t know if this is the light before the darkness or if he really is doing a bit better than he was a week ago–and what that might mean. On Sunday, I told the priest Ned was likely in his final week; now, as Thursday dawns, I question that prediction. I can’t tell what’s happening. I don’t know if I’m being foolishly optimistic or if he really is holding his own. Maybe tonight was a lovely goodbye. Or maybe it was my beloved boy’s way of saying, “Don’t write me off just yet.” Regardless, this night was a gift I’ll cherish forever.

Boop. Boop. Boop.