ROOMMATES (part 13)

Aroo has changed (or my perception of him has). Because he's near death, he seems nobler, wiser. I forget how he annoys me.

My friend Mattie refers to me as the father of Aroo but I tell her, it's not like that.

"Our relationship is kind of adversarial, actually... we're more like roommates except I cover all the expenses and have to wait on him."

Sometimes when I have a friend over (say my neighbor Jackie) and we're sitting at the computer, Aroo will decide he wants in on the action and walk (back and forth) over the keyboard. I wine (the way children wine to their mothers, "A-ROO-oo," to which my friend will probably say, "it's okay, let him stay," to which I reply, "NO! It's not alright, he always does this. Whatever. Play with Aroo if you want."

The cat craves attention. He looks to people for sustenance. This is the opposite of me.

But now that Aroo is all weak and feeble, I feel teary eyed around him.

I'm leaving in an hour to go to a recording studio to digitalize some cassette tapes of my last voice lessons. But before I go I need to do a little exercise.

I sit on my theracyle and as I get it going, the cat comes over to sit in my lap. This is unusual. He's been sleeping in the closet facing the wall for the last couple of days. I stop cycling and let him nest. I slowly pat him.

It occurs to me (and I mean it's just crazy) that just a little over two years ago, we were both perfectly healthy and now we're fighting for our lives. (I cry a little for the both of us).

Aroo can only sit in my lap so long because it hurts. He moves to the bed and lies down as near to the edge as possible, so we are still quite close. (I wonder if Aroo is trying to say goodbye).