Young Writers Society

It was time. The time I had to be strong in front of my best friend, even though I knew he was about to die.

It started three days prior. We noticed Tiger walking kind of funny around the house, as if he pulled a muscle in his back legs. He would lay in out of the way places for hours on end, far longer than he normally would, without shifting position. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't drink unless the water ran from a spigot, and he didn't go in his litter box. The call was made that night, and it was my job to take him to the vet the next morning.

I woke up with Tiger still lying on my robe on the floor. He laid down there in the exact same position at seven-thirty the night before. It was now eleven in the morning, and he hadn't moved at all since last night. His fur was matted and disgusting. He just seemed to let himself go. Something was definitely wrong.

His appointment was at two-fifteen in the afternoon, so I went to his kennel and opened the door, to allow him time to crawl in himself. At two o'clock, Tiger still hadn't gotten off of my robe, so I picked him up and carried him to the kennel. I opened the top and placed him inside. He didn't resist, but instead let out a series of pathetic meowls. It killed me inside to hear it, but I tried my best to not let it get to me. I grabbed the kennel and the list of symptoms my dad typed up, and went to the car.

A short drive to the vet's office later, Tiger was still meowling, but not as frequently or as loudly as before. The doctor came out shortly after, and we walked into the examining room. I took Tiger out of his kennel and set him on the table. After some quick tests, it was determined that he was constipated. I thought that's what the worst of it was; constipation and dehydration. They would give him an enema, pump fluids into him, and we could take him home. I said good-bye, and left feeling much better.

That night, the vet called. They did some precautionary blood work, and the results were back: his kidneys were failing. There were two options: we could give him shots twice a day to keep him alive, or they could go ahead and euthanize him. After a tear-filled family meeting, we all decided that euthanization was the best option. It would be my job to go and say good-bye, on behalf of the family, for the last time.

And now the time had come. Tiger was to be euthanized at noon, and I had anytime before that to go say good-bye. At ten-fifteen, I got into my car and drove to the vet's office.

The familiar smell of pet dander and dog food flooded my nostrils as soon as I opened the door. There was an elderly man at the counter, chatting it up with the nurse at the front desk.

"Yeah, we got a call about a stray cat down on Virginia. It shouldn't take too long to catch 'im, provided that he stay on Virginia when we get there. When's a good time to bring 'im in?"

The nurse clicked her tongue in thought as she checked her appointment book. "Does four o'clock work?"

"Sounds dandy. I'll bring 'im in then. See ya."

The man nodded to me as he left. For a moment, I hated that man. He had no right to be laughing and enjoying himself hours before my cat was about to die.

"Can I help you, sir?"

I turned from the man getting into the Animal Control truck and said, "I'm here to see Tiger."

The smile vanished from her face. "Just a minute," she said, and escaped to the back room.

I paced around the lobby, mentally preparing myself for this moment. What would I say to him? It really didn't matter; as far as I knew, a creature who could spend an hour of his life chasing his own tail had a minimal grasp of the English language. But still, it would make me feel better if I said something worthwhile, even if it meant nothing to him.

I heard the familiar meowls coming down the hallway, and I was led into the examining room.

"You can spend as much time as you wish. You have free use of as much of the room as you need. When you're done, just let us know."

I thanked the nurse, took Tiger out of his cage, and sat down in the chair. He was a mess: his fur more matted and disgusting than ever before. Dried drool made the fur around his mouth dry and crusty, and he smelled as if he had spent the night in a Dumpster. Fur was coming off in clumps, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. As I held him and stroked his fur, his meowing was becoming less frequent and vocal, until he finally accepted his position, and curled up in my lap.

I scratched behind his ears, and told him that mom and dad said good-bye. I told him that it just wouldn't be the same without him curled up on my lap watching the Simpsons with me. I apologized for every terrible thing I called him, and for everytime I threw him down the stairs, and every time I would sneak up behind him and drop something, just to watch him jump up and run away. I told him I loved him and that the house just felt empty without his late-night freakouts. I told him that he was a great cat, and that there was no way he would be forgotten easily.

I scratched him under his chin, and he purred quietly. I told him that I loved him, and that I was sorry that it came down to this, but he was such an amazing cat that we couldn't stand to give him shots every day. I told him that I would miss him, and that nothing would be the same without him. After everything I told him, he softly mewed, as if to say, "I know, I understand."

I ran out of things to say, so I sat quietly, scratching his head. Tiger turned to face me, and the look in his eyes seemed to ask, "Does it hurt to die?"

"I... I don't know," I said, instantly feeling foolish for answering an unasked question. Tiger meowed as if to say, "I don't want to die."

"I don't want you to either," I said. "But it has to be done."

He turned away. "I guess," he said.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I began to cry. My eyes leaked hot tears of grief and hopelessness. In less than an hour, my best friend was going to be lying on a table, slowly dying, and I wouldn't be able to be there with him.

Tiger lurched, jarring me from my thoughts: he wanted to get down. Slowly, I lowered him to the ground, and watched as he limped over to his open kennel. Before entering, he turned to me and mewed, saying, "It has to be done." Then he crawled into the kennel, and settled himself in.

After wiping the tears from my eyes and closing the kennel door, I entered the lobby and said, "Okay, we're ready."

The nurse took Tiger into the back room. I walked out to the lobby and saw an old man with his dog sitting in the lobby. The dog looked at my face, and let out a sympathetic "bruff". The nurse returned with his empty kennel and patted my back.

It was almost as bad as watching him die, taking the empty kennel home. I felt as if I had failed Tiger by leaving him there, but I knew it was for the better. All I had left of him was an empty kennel, and a lifetime of memories.