Good Night Mimi

I watched a cat die today. D called me in tears to break our appointment. She told me that Mimi, her cat, had been sick for a long time. I asked her if she wanted me to accompany her to the vet. My friend had to periodically hydrate and medicate the infirmed animal. Mimi was thin and fragile. D had adopted the cat and guessed she was around 17 years old. D got in my car and put Mimi on her lap. I shut her door. We knew we were going to a funeral.

I was never a cat person. For one thing I am highly allergic. Most of my bad dreams or nightmares have a cat in them. The only affectionate memory I have of a cat is Kim Novak in Bell Book and Candle. This day I would feel for the cat and its owner. This wasn’t just an old cat. It was a helpless dying creature that my friend had loved for many years. I love my friend and today her sadness was mine.

I never had a pet. I did have two Oscars years ago. When I bought them they were smaller than goldfish. After two years they were the size of small trout. Eventually, one sailed out of the tank when I wasn’t home. The other eventually died naturally. I was a little sad for a very short time. It isn’t easy to get emotionally attached with a fish. On the other hand, my friend was crushed.

D felt burdened by having to make the final decision. I gently responded by indicating that most pet owners decide to prolong the life of the animal with medical procedures. After I finished the sentence, I was concerned that it may have sounded insensitive. But my friend agreed and just let her sadness flow through.

We were directed to an examining room that could have been in a pediatric clinic. Three walls had pictures of dogs and cats. On the wall facing the child size exam table was a large 4’x6’ framed picture of a cat and a dog. They were serenely sitting atop a fluffy cloud; doggy and kitty heaven. I realized that euthanasia is part of being a pet owner. Given that piece of information, I realized I would never be a pet guy.

The vet asked if she wanted to be present for the procedure. D said yes. An assistant took the cat to another room to place a catheter in Mimi’s leg. When the assistant returned, D wrapped Mimi in the blanket she slept in. As she walked out she said, “The doctor will be here shortly.”

The room was thick with grief. Time became urgent. Every tear was like another grain of sand dropping in the hourglass. While D wept, a young woman came in and asked, “Will you be paying by check or credit card. We like to collect so you can be free to leave. With the emergency office visit, that will be $250.” Mimi was in D’s arms. I fumbled through the purse for her credit card. “Will that be debit or credit?” She left the room and returned with the receipt and invoice. She looked at D as if to convey that she needed the stub of paper signed. D asked, “Frank, will you please initial it for her.” After the bill collector left, D said, “Don’t they normally bill you?” I swallowed my contempt.

The vet came in and agreed that D was making the right decision; that Mimi’s quality of life would continue to deteriorate. I put my arm around D’s shoulder while she trembled with tears.

D put Mimi’s head in her hands and kissed her and said her soft goodbye. The vet had two syringes prepared. The first shot was a sedative. I’m not sure why she needed that. The second was an overdose of anesthesia.

After receiving the first shot, Mimi started licking her whiskers rapidly. The rest of her remained still. Moments after that came the lethal injection. It was light pink and injected quickly. The vet checked her heart. Mimi was gone. D stopped sobbing, but the tears continued to roll like streams. The moment was too big for sound. We stood in sacred silence while I watched a heart breaking. I knew the depth of her ache. D fell into my arms. She is a diminutive woman, less than one third my size. While we shared that space, I was merely a ripple in the ocean.

I used to secretly think avid pet people were a bit silly. That changed today. It makes no difference how love is expressed as long as it is. My friend is a gentle and kind human being with a terrible ache in her heart. Her grief reflects her capacity for love. I could not relate to her love of the pet, but I could identify with losing some one I loved. I am sad for D. I know how she feels. Tonight I will sleep with the one I love more than life itself. Because of my friend, I will cherish her even more.