The mountains to the right with small house lights at the base and the cold of evening pressing in made it feel like tonight there were long roads to be traveled – roads that cut their way from here and through other towns and other dark skies – roads that passed people getting home or settling in – roads that sped away in to the long night under other stars and eventually dawning somewhere different. The mountains seemed foreign in that way, like maybe I was already somewhere else. I was heading north on 99 – two or three exits to the animal hospital out by the old mall.
The doctor called shortly after dinner. He said Nick, my cat, was stable but I should probably come now if I can. I had gotten a call earlier in the day – probably cancer, maybe pancreatic, systemic or some word like that – I can’t remember the details and they didn’t really change what the end result would be. I scheduled an appointment for 7. I would have a few minutes with him and then be with him as they put him to sleep.
What do you say to your dying cat? I rubbed behind his ears to get him to purr a bit. He didn’t look great. He had lost more weight and was a little dazed. I gave him a tiny headbutt and told him we had a good ride, bud. Five minutes alone with my dying cat – watching his labored breathing, feeling the bones that weren’t as prominent a week or two ago – it felt like forever. The doctor came in. He spoke in hushed and somber tones. He explained what he would do and then did what he had explained. Thankfully the process was quick. Nick lowered his head. He was at peace. We had a good ride.
