Was that me?
Did I just speak out loud, by myself, in my kitchen?
Yes, I did.
At my feet lies our cat, Anna. A once-frisky devil of a calico. It was not unlike her to jump on the kitchen counter and drag off steak, chicken, and other assorted goodies that we were preparing to make for our dinner. But now, I have just gotten off the phone with the vet. We have a 10:40am appointment Tuesday the 26th of July to euthanize her. I have just spent 30-some odd minutes googling to see if Maya should be there. As I expected, everyone has differing opinions.
I found Anna on a bitter cold rainy evening in early 2001 when we were living in Jersey City. We rented a garage space from a guy around the corner. As I pulled the Jeep in, I caught glimpse of a tiny, frail-looking kitten. I ran back to our apartment and grabbed a green recycling bin in the hope that I could rescue her. Keep in mind that we already had 2 cats at home who were perfectly content with the arrangement and I do not think that they wanted their space further cramped. But, I am a sucker for at-risk animals and I am going to honestly say that I did not take Tiger and Aurora’s feelings into account. Approaching this kitten carefully, who had now found refuge in a box full of damp newspapers, I was able to scoop her into the green bin and run home. She was terrified. I felt her little body jumping up wildly trying to escape. She continued this as I raced into my building, up the stairs and released her in our bathroom. I have never seen a cat jump as high as this one was. Nor make the sounds that she was. I had a few moments of terror, thinking that maybe she was rabid, or psychotic, but with some food and water, she slowly settled down. And after the initial vet visits, including spay that had to be done twice, she slowly began to trust her new surroundings and Aurora and Tiger grudgingly welcomed her into the fold.
The incident is lovingly referred to as “The escape.” We were moving from our apartment in JC to a home in Plainfield. The cats were in the bathroom, locked away. The movers were instructed not to open the door. There was even a note on the door. A big note. Of course, one of them opened the door. Anna bolted out of the bathroom, down the hall, out of the apartment door, down the stairs and onto the street. I was on the street and saw her race around the corner. “If I lose her, I am fucked.” Those were my thoughts at the time. And so began my amazing chase through the neighborhood. Clearly she forgot that she almost perished when she lived out in the streets. After about an hour or so of chasing her through numerous yards in the neighborhood on a sweltering August afternoon, I felt that I finally had my chance of getting her. She was resting under a rose bush. I got on my stomach, crawled slowly toward her, and grabbed her. And instantly experienced pain that cannot be translated into words. The hind legs flailing wildly, scratching my forearms drawing immense amounts of blood. Her teeth grabbing my thumbs and fingers, trying desperately to get out of my grip. Oh, and there was the rose bush. That fucking rose bush. I was eventually able to grab her by the scruff, which calmed both of us. Walking back to the apartment, bleeding, dirty and sweaty, holding a tiny kitten by the neck, it reminded me of the end of one of those Mel Gibson style Apocalypse movies. I had “won”. But Anna continued to have the adventurer in her. While she never escaped into the wilds of the suburbs, she did get herself stuck in various crawl spaces around the house resulting in unique challenges to rescuing her.
But these little episodes pale in comparison with my endless memories of her and Maya together. Maya’s first task in the morning has been to track Anna down and carry her through the house, hugging and kissing her. Anna has enjoyed being Maya’s rag doll—they are quite the team. They have breakfast and dinner together, they are together as we watch Modern Family, they sleep together.
We lost Tiger a few years ago. Maya and Tiger were close, but I feel that Maya and Anna kind of grew up together. And as I feel mortality being more of a presence in my life these days, this appointment tomorrow is really so much more than my pet being euthanized. It’s a call to make these days and these relationships mean more.
I’ve been trying, gently, to talk to her about this. It’s hard—“Dada, she’ll get better.”
“You know, babe, she’s not going to get better. Her little body cannot fight this disease anymore. No medicine can help her now. We need to understand that she can’t live this way anymore. Her little legs cannot hold her up. She’s whimpering, her eyes look so sad. So we’ve made a decision—the doctor can give Anna a special shot that will help her die peacefully. She won’t be in this pain anymore. And we will be able to say goodbye to Anna in our own way. And we can be together as a family when this happens. It’ll be okay. She will be at peace. She won’t be sad anymore. Does this make sense to you?”
We haven’t had this conversation yet. We may say all of this to her, we may say some of it. But it’s gonna be hard. But it will bring us all even closer. With all the sadness that death brings, it also brings us opportunities to come closer.
Thanks, Anna. I do love you. We all do.
