Cats, dogs, and veined hands (A Villanelle barely conforming to form)

My hands look old today and it seemed strange
I'd be only thirty and three years in
to you when it struck me odd that I'd age.

More that it would show, not with grace but veined
like that feather on the beach we saw. Still
today they just feel old and it seems strange

the dogs don't notice the heat, cats won't gauge
the sun, and I don't have that much to say
to you; being struck so odd that I'd age

without you. If you consider the range
of circumstance we had its no wonder
my hands look old today. It does seem strange

not to have that quiet touch in the rain.
We were young, younger; I said I love you
to you so it strikes me odd that I'd age

with the cat in crisis, me barely sane,
gone with the feather some three years later
when my hands look old and it seems so strange
to you that it'd strike me odd I'd feel aged.