The Great Kitty Spirit Calls My Precious ‘Tabby’ Hither
by Brian R. Wright
This final day transpires like the movie High Noon, with the somber moment of truth impending with every tick of the clock. Tabby’s euthanasia appointment is at 6:30 p.m. with the vet, who’s just a mile away. I think I’m going to be okay. I’ve extended her departure date so I can have some ‘hospice’-quality time, three whole days where I’m home, moving my computer work downstairs, in the living room where she’s been camping out on the foot stool of the other love seat for maybe a week now.
She’s definitely ready, her appetite is close to nil, though she walks to her food area and to the litter box still. I’ve bought every treat and new idea in packaged and unpackaged cat food I can think of, though I have run out of the crock-potted skinless, boneless chicken thighs that were a staple for her… not that she’s been eating that either these last few days. Her breathing is ‘okay,’ I had them do a final fluid drain from the chest cavity two days ago. Thru various gestures, like placing her paw on my hand (a first) she’s as much as told me: “Papa B, it’s time to meet my Maker.”
Every half hour or so I make a point of stopping whatever I’m writing on to go over and give her a few strokes while uttering the sweet nothings. Occasionally, I’ll get more conversational, e.g. “Well, baby, I sure wish there was some other way. But you have the big C and it’s not going away” [or “You know, it sure looks like the Inter-national War Party wants to blow the world to Kingdom Come. Trump ran against these chicken hawks, now he’s sold out to them. What do you think?”]… then go into the procedures she’s had done and what the doctors say, what the Xrays say, what the ultrasound images say, what my friends and family say. Continue reading