One week later

I’m trying to make use of my room upstairs. I wish it wasn’t so dark up here, and small, but I should be grateful that there is a place for me to go when I want to be alone. Everything is dusty and cramped at the moment; work on the kitchen continues and the whole house is in dissaray.

It's been a week now since we lost Akasha, and I'm finally able to look at her name without breaking down into a sobbing wreck. We knew it was going to happen, but you're never really ready for it. We had this weak hope that the vet would look at her, give us some vitamins, and we'd have her a little longer. Unfortunately, that's not how it happened. One look and the vet said it's time to let her go.

I had no shame weeping in front of these people. When you're about to lose someone precious to you, the last thing on your mind is wondering how you look. I didn't care. All I could do is look at her on the steel examination table, lying on a green flannel blanket and thinking this is the last image I'll have of Akasha in my head. I think she was ready though. Her eyes had been vacant for the last few days, and she had stopped eating that week. Nothing was left of our former 21 lb cat but bones and fur, and whenever I picked her up she was practically weightless.

The vet let us have a moment to make our decision and be alone with our pet for a little while longer. I couldn't believe how much it hurt. It still hurts a week later, but it was unbearable at the time. We petted her, cried, and when the vet returned we said we were ready. She explained the procedure again to us: she would put an IV on Akasha's paw, then inject the medication into the tube. Akasha would probably be confused, look around, then just fall asleep peacefully. It happened just so, except for the confused part. She merely put her head down on her left paw, and then she was gone.

I cried for three days.

This morning I woke up after dreaming about tigers. I was walking to a friend's house in Detroit, and ahead in my path was a huge dead tiger. I dream in color, and its orange and black striped hide contrasted loudly with the dirty landscape. I walked past it, then I saw another one playing in the street. It went into a beat up truck and sat next to a dangerous looking blond man with long, dirty hair tied into a pony tail. He looked at me, and I looked away. Maybe he was death, and I didn't want to look death in the eyes for fear of what might happen.

Maybe it doesn't matter.