It took a long while before I could even drive past the vet after Morgan died without sobbing my heart out. I have been able to do that for awhile now. I’ve taken Floyd into get his vaccinations done. But I’ve never been back to that particular table where Morgan died. Never held Floyd on that scuffed up stainless steel. And thought about my old girl closing her eyes for the last time. Or leaving with sunglasses in some attempt to give my grief some privacy. I failed miserably because sunglasses don’t work if you have tears streaming down your face.
Floyd has been lethargic and last night refused dinner. This morning I put a cup of milk in front of him and he didn’t even try to knock it over. And I knew it was serious. So I took him in.
He escaped the cat carrier and for a horrifying five minutes I thought that I had lost him. Then I took him into the vet and held him on the killing table while they checked him out.
And as I held him there, I could feel my eyes stinging and throat getting thick with the emotion of it. In part about Morgan, but mostly for Floyd.
I’d managed to convince myself that as much as I loved Floyd, he wasn’t really my cat. We’d got him too close to Morgan’s death to feel like he was. Josh does the vast majority of the feeding and cleaning for Floyd. It’s a lie of course. A convenient lie so I feel like I won’t have to go through losing an animal again. Of course I will.
Floyd has a fever so he is on anti-biotics and if he isn’t on the improve tomorrow I will take him back for more blood tests.
He is a young cat. I can’t imagine that anything could go really wrong. But of course I can. The deal that I made with the universe was that I lost a lifelong friend in Morgan but I had my baby. We were square.
Floyd is my cat. And if anything happens to him, me and the universe will have words. Because in no way will we be square.