Sad

On Saturday the boyfriend and I had to put Meow Cat to sleep.
We never got a clear reason-whether it was asthma, pneumonia, kidney trouble or the beginnings of cancer. There was the supposition that it was triggered by our move to a new apartment...the stress coupled with dustiness, but that, of course, cannot be confirmed or denied.

We brought her in Friday night after her breathing, which we first noticed as markedly different on Wednesday, worsened considerably. By the time we got her to the emergency room she looked awful. They rushed her into an enclosed oxygen box like the put premature babies into. The night doctor was cautiously optimistic and told us we might be able to bring her home later the next afternoon. But when we called on Saturday the new doctor said that Meow Cat had worsened. There was the financial question-the after hours care started at an initial eighty dollars and wehn we left Friday the bill estimate was between five and seven hundred dollars (which I didn't have). When I asked the day doctor about cost she said that even if it wasn't a financial matter, they wouldn't judge us if we decided to put her down. Meow Cat's prognosis was not good.

We went and saw her in her oxygen enclosure Saturday afternoon. We petted her and cried. Her breathing was better because of the additional 20% of oxygen she was receiving, but if she was out of the box the improvement wouldn't have lasted. After speaking to the vet in person, the decision that had already been made became official. I signed some papers and said yes to receiving her ashes. Then we waited in 'exam room 5', a typical vet room with large metal examination table and strange sheld seat for the owners. There were these awful Andy Warho-esque silk screen portraits of dogs and cats and bunnies with names like Buster and Bunny. We sat in the room for at least ten minutes before the veterinary assistant came in with Meow Cat wrapped in a blanket and a portable oxygen machine. I've never been very good with sympathy, it usually makes me cry harder. This vet assistant twice came up to us in an attempt to comfort. The first time she talked to us it was by the oxygen box. She talked about what a sweet cat Meow Cat was and how hard a decision like this could be but that the real thing to consider is 'quality of life'. She was kind and nice and right and I wanted to tell her to shut up.
Before they brought Meow Cat into the exam room we had to pay our bill which, including the $250 deposit of the night before, came out to be $900. The boyfriend commented that they had learned to settle the bill before and not after. Once the vet assistant brought Meow Cat in she told us how the process would work, that they would give us some time alone with her. We were to make sure that the hose with oxygen coming through it was near her face so she could breathe better. At one point she referred to us as Meow Cat's mom and dad...I have never liked referring to people as parents of pets (I struggled with this tendency when I worked at the doggie daycare) and if I hadn't been dealing with the fact that I was about to see my cat die, I would have told her so.
We spent fifteen minutes or so petting Meow Cat. She had a catheter in her back leg which she didn't like and she generally just lay there, occasionally rearranging herself in an effort to be more comfortable. I was ready a few minutes before they came in the room. The prolonging of her life just made the fact that she was going to be gone worse for me. The vet assistant came in again and told us that after it was done, we could just leave. She then told us she would make an imprint of Meow Cat's paws in clay and then bring them out to us. A complimentary memento.
The doctor came in. I kneeled down and pet Meow Cat's head as the vet put two shots into the catheter. I saw Meow Cat's eyes widen for a second and then dull. And that was that.
I found Meow Cat on the streets of Tivoli, New York the summer after I graduated from college. I would sit on my apartment's stairs at night writing in my journal and this skinny, meowing cat would come up to me, not thinking twice about jumping in my lap and sitting on my notebook. I fed her tuna fish and she came back again and again. When I moved I took the cat I christened Meow Cat Slut Whore with me. She was a very good cat even when she scratched the rugs or ate the plants (then vomited them up on the floor or the boyfriend's computer). She was affectionate to a fault, always willing to come and lie on my chest (or almost always) especially at night. Vets were always taken with how calm she was at checkups, she didn't even blink when they shoved thermometers up her ass or ear thingies in her ears. She had a personality I won't ever find in another animal. She wasn't afraid of strangers, always singling the allergic one as her new best friend. She purred at a hand's first caress. She was a cat nip addict but it didn't hurt anyone and she was kind of funny to watch while in the throes of her high.
Now when I walk around the apartment I occasionally think I see her out of the corner of my eye. But it's the boyfriend's hookah bag, or our wooden butler's black pants leg, or a shadow, or nothing at all. We haven't put away her food bowl or litter box and I'm not sure when we will. Last night in bed, the way the boyfriend repositioned his arm felt like the tell-tale weight of Meow Cat walking across the blankets, getting ready to shove her butt in one of our faces and knead our belly with her paws. It is very sad that she is gone.