Spoiler
This is a story I wrote several months ago, when my cat, Nei, had some leukemia tumors on his medulla oblongata. He received steroids, but there was a chance they might not help him and he'd have to be put down. This was really keeping me up at nights. Thankfully, he got better, and the tumors are no longer a threat to his life, so let us say this story is just a pessimistic spin-off to the reality.
It has the biggest impact when read aloud. Just saying.
It has the biggest impact when read aloud. Just saying.
With just a corner of my eye I saw the vet as she approached, and I was well aware of the syringe she held in her shaky hand. During all that time we'd known each other, she grew pretty affectionate of Nei, too, so that must've been hard for her as well. Or maybe she just didn't like to do it, being the caller of death?
"I'm so sorry," she stuttered, "but it has to be done."
I nodded, feeling the growing lump in my throat, and I dropped my head to look at the weakened, haggard body lying nearly inertly on my lap, as the vet lowered herself to the floor beside me and removed the cover from the needle.
"Can I?" I asked and she silently put it in my palm. I shut my eyes tight, took a deep breath, felt a shiver run down my spine--oh, how much I hated to do this! He's in pain, I remembered, in terrible pain. He's too weak to jump or to chew on the harder chunks. He's just suffering on his long way to salvation, and you, bitch, you have to get over your damn egoism and help him out.
When I finally raised my lids, Nei was looking at me with his huge, green eyes, but they lacked his usual glimpse of intelligence. Instead, they were filled with pain, resignation and acceptance, as though he not only knew what was coming, but also craved for relief it would bring.
The vet just sat there, silent, giving me as much time as I needed to say good-bye. But I couldn't, not just yet, for something weird, stuck deep inside me, refused to accept even the mere vision of life without him: without his cat-aids snores, his beautiful smart eyes and the times when he snuggled to my neck on cold nights. But I also knew it wasn't me who mattered here and that he waited impatiently for me to give him this damn fatal shot.
Nei, with difficulty, raised his little paw towards me and attempted to meow, but he was too weak to make the sound hearable; I caught his paw and pressed my lips against it, my eye-lids burning and sore, my vision blurry. I noticed a drop running down his chest fur and I realized it was first of many tears that were about to be shed that day.
"It'll help you," I whispered more to reassure myself than him, as he already seemed to know that. Then, with a sudden outburst of determination, I grabbed a roll of his shoulder skin and forced the needle into it.
As much as he had always hated injections and battled hard to defend himself, Nei was lying still now, waiting for his fate to find its end in the web of his veins. I tossed the syringe on the ground and raised him to my arms, knowing I had only a short while left before he'd fall asleep for ever.
My shattered mind struggled hard against it, but soon it had to accept that this furry thing I was still holding close to my chest wasn't my beloved little kitty anymore--now, it was just a piece of flesh. I wasn't going to see Nei's eyes ever again or to hear him snore, or to feel his warm abdomen embracing my neck--but none of these were completely clear to me, not until I dug my look into purple conveyor, standing at the wall. At that very moment I felt a sob tearing apart my lungs and I wailed loudly into that unhearing ear of his, as I knew that, when I'd carry it home today, the conveyor would be painfully light and empty.
