My cat was dying, there was no question about it.
I’d been in denial for long enough. My cat, who was normally spry and inquisitive and eager for a skritch, had gone from increasingly lethargic to cringing in visible pain.
I visited her often in the “Garage-Mahal,” the garage I’d renovated so that she and her brother and sister could live in comfort and luxury. Every time I visited her, she hadn’t moved from her basket. I stroked her fur which had quickly become matted and unkempt since she’d ceased preening herself. She was panting heavily, wheezing in pain as something inside her tightened her whole body and made her shiver.
I’d had her since she was a kitten. She’d been with me through four moves. One divorce. The death of my dear brother. Several years in customer service. She’d helped me through so much, and now I was struggling with the paradox that I should repay our long and beautiful romance by taking her to the vet and having a stranger kill her.
Lacking the fortitude to do what needed to be done, I let her languish in pain far too long. That is, until she turned up her nose at a generous portion of tuna. Then I knew, it was time.
I wrapped her in an old towel. I held her and spoke with her for a long time. I scratched her the way she liked it, with my knuckle inside her ears. All this time, I’d fed her or changed her litter or played with her assuming she was the one who needed me when I needed her just as much.
I was in no condition to drive. I sat in the passenger seat as Jaclyn drove. On the way to the Humane Society, Jaclyn pointed out the gas in the car was terribly low. That was my fault. I’d almost driven it dry without filling the tank and now, here we were on this ghastly errand, running on fumes.
My cat, who hated riding in cars, was likely horrified when I suggested we stop at the gas station on the way. We pulled up to the pump.
For a moment, the swaddled cat in my arms stopped shivering and panting, she opened her eyes and looked at me knowingly. Her expression said it all. “You’re taking me to put me down. And you stopped for gas along the way.” She seemed to go on, “Any groceries you’d like to pick up as well?!”
And that’s when she took a long glorious piss she’d been holding onto for a long while. It soaked through the towel in short order and seeped through my pants and, I feared, into the passenger seat.
“You had it coming.” she seemed to say, and I couldn’t help but agree.
With the windows down, we sat together as a cool, slow summer breeze eased through the car, like a passing ghost. We stayed there together, smelling the sweet, fresh air. And we were still.