It was the spousal unit who stayed with Zoe in that white room that reeked of disinfectant as the vet gave her that final shot this morning.

Me, I was the one out in the parking lot blubbering.

The cat was over 20 and what with cataracts, deafness, and stiffening joints I knew we probably wouldn't have her around to see this Christmas, but I certainly didn't expect her to fall apart so quickly.

It started last night after supper, Zoe getting progressively sicker. Vomiting, blood in her stool … by first light we knew a run to the vet was inevitable. The vet took one look at the listlessness of the cat, her age, the fact that she could feel some sort of internal growth in Zoe's belly, and told us it would be a kindness to put her to sleep.

You know, when my father was in palliative care I spent many nights in his room knowing he could die. When he actually did die, I was holding his hand. I could face my father's dying head on because it was his choice--he decided his mounting health problems meant he didn't have much to look forward to and so he decided not to go on dialysis, signing his own death warrant.

But this cat, this tiny black creature, trusted me for almost all her life to look out for her and here I was taking her life away from her. Intellectually, I knew it was the best thing. The vet made that very clear. But emotionally, well, there was no way I could be in that room.

It seems impossible to me that I'm never going to hear the soft click of her dragon lady claws as she patrols the house. Every time I come upstairs I glance at our bed, expecting to see a small inky ball curled up on the far side, against the bookcases, catching up on that badly needed 22 1/2 hours of daily sleep.

Oh, and every night for what feels like forever, I have gone to sleep with that tiny cat curled up near my tummy, purring softly. It's going to be all too quiet here at bedtime.

When I was nine years old I walked into the room as my mother was committing suicide. For a long time I tried to keep myself from loving people and things because it just seemed as if that was a door to endless pain.

But the thing is, if you try to withhold yourself, to not love, all you do is deprive yourself of the potential of love returned. Pain finds you anyhow, that seems to be its way.

As sad as I am at this moment, I'm terrifically grateful that a very long time ago a terribly skinny, half dead, tiny black stray cat somehow stumbled into the yard of our house tucked up in the woods.

She will be missed.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 364.15 miles (584.4 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers