Thursday

Thursday
Originally uploaded by Charlie Roberts

AROO, A NEW ARC (PART 8)

I sit alone, unsure of what I am ordering, my face, an illustration of certitude and fear.

I listen to Susan and Mattie (in the next room) gently lift Aroo onto a pillowcase and lower him to the bottom of a topless cat carrying case.

I hear Aroo whimper.

"WAIT. What's happening? Stop!"

"No" Mattie says, "It's okay. We got him. He's okay."

Susan and Mattie bring Aroo to me like they're handing a newborn to its mother.

And when Aroo is my lap, it's just terrible. He can't lift his head. His eyes are open but register nothing.
This is not the cat I know. This is a prop, an approximation.  He looks half-dead.

"Well, he's gone" I say accusingly "I mean, he looks terrible!" - and I say this like Susan and Mattie are to blame.  (Have they been in complete denial under that bed?)

I massage Aroo under his furry chin. He's alive but clearly gone. I feel abandoned to my own health disaster.

"Aroo. Aroo!!"

The cat who lived purely for (affection and play) has been killed, by what exactly?
What is he fighting? (What am I fighting)?

Aroo is in my lap and Susan and Mattie flank me. I am the central figure in a medieval religious panel.

Aroo makes three or four little coughs. "He's still breathing" I say. But Susan adds, "I think this is it. I think he's going right now" and she says it with just a tinge of opportunity of how lucky we are that he's going NOW (and she's right).

"He's gone".

AROO, A NEW ARC (PART 7) ON A DIME

We google "how do you tell your cat is dying"; reluctance to eat or drink, distracted/disoriented, cooling bodies, rapid and shallow breathing, weakening eyesight.

We can't decide (or rather I can't) if we should bring him to a hospital tonight, or wait until morning.

I can't see him. It's all guesswork. And he might improve. It's late. I'm emotional and wiped.
"Let's let him stay under the bed." (I can't cope).

...and the scene that will play out when he's carried out of the apartment in a basket, barely alive, forced to say my last goodbye - knowing I'm sending this (life loving) cat to his death? 

No. This is too much.

"Lets let it go until tomorrow."

"I can stay over tonight " Susan says. "You shouldn't be alone. If Aroo starts to cry, I'll be here to help."

But then Susan reveals she has to be in the Bronx at eight in the morning. She would need to be up at six to shower and dress before going to work.

"No. That's no good. That's way too early, you can't do that."
I live in a yolk of exhaustion and Susan's offer seems reckless, grueling.

Susan retreats to the bedroom while I clarify the options with Mattie.

"We bring him to the vet tonight (to have him put down) or wait and see how he is in the morning. That's it. Two choices."

But then Mattie reveals that the three or four doctors she spoke to today -all said to put the cat down, as soon as possible - it would be cruel not to.

And suddenly, at eleven-thirty at night,  it's plain to me that my vacillation, my wish-washy haze, is causing Aroo additional suffering.

I turn on the proverbial dime.

"OKAY. No. Let's do it tonight. We'll do it tonight. If Aroo is feeling bad tonight, he'll feel wretched tomorrow. Go get the cat."

key chain

key chain
Originally uploaded by Charlie Roberts