Breath

The air is drifting down from warm to cool but it is thick and still, so thick that one thinks of one’s breathing.

In.

Out.

Once again I am outside, at my little table on my little patio. I have a glass of red wine, sipped, and a peach, not yet tasted. It is 71 degrees F (18.5 C) with 81 percent humidity. The fireflies’ display was short tonight as if the air weighted them down as well.

In.

Out.

I turned in my grades yesterday. I did not celebrate though, as a beloved cat, Orange Julius, had become deathly ill. The vet appointment scheduled for today, seemed too far away as my poor boy shook and held tight to me, purring at the comfort of my arms in a world gone strange from some internal toxicity. He is probably dying, probably of kidney failure. He is only five. He is at the vets now, they are trying to turn him around, his chances are slim, but I had to give him that chance.

In.

Out.

Cats’ kidneys are like our hearts. They are the organs prone to fail with age, or sometimes surprisingly young when one should be in the prime of life, expecting many years ahead. It is the way of most pets. They will usually die before us. And though that is hard on us, is it not easier for them? Unlike a person they do not have family and friends for care and support. When the owner dies before the pet, the pet is left in a world turned upside down, often unwanted, too often carted off to a shelter.

In.

Out.

I have a binder called “Cats in Residence” with my cats' pictures and their papers, with rudimentary health records. Most importantly there are contacts, cat loving friends and breeders, so that my cats can be cared for should I go before them. I need to update it.

In.

Out.

I wonder how poor Julius is, alone at the vets, in a small space. He is a social creature, adored by his daughter Creaky, well liked by most of my cats. Usually he is busy, playing tag, tossing toys in the air, or leaping up to a shoulder to be held and petted, purring, until he wiggles and squirms to get down and run around again. Creaky is hunting around a bit, missing him. Julius is probably lonely, if he is not too sick to notice. If he is still alive tomorrow, I will go visit him. If not, I will bring him home and dig a deep hole, and plant a new rose over him, to smell sweet and remind me of one sweet cat.

In.

Out.