Cats

Cats let you know when they are dying

We sat silently in my mom’s Hyundai as we drove down I-95. It was noon, the first sunny day we’ve had since Christmas 3 days ago. The rays intruding through the car windows seemed wrong - disingenuous. The light chased us for 30 minutes. Annoying and not fitting, and now the AC is on its highest setting, but neither the sun nor the artificial air are doing their jobs. The heat against my skin normally comforts me, but today I wanted to draw a blind and hide. I couldn’t and it knew it. It wanted to make sure I knew it was out and I could not enjoy it. My mom whispered something to Chloe in her arms, something playful about how she must like looking out the window. Of course, Chloe could not answer and the whole thing felt awkward.

The road spat up mud water as Griffin drove southbound towards Delray. Griffin never drove. It’s not that he couldn’t, but my mom, Anna and I would naturally assume the role before him. We passed a family of ducklings and as he turned to see, Anna kindly and matter-of-factly reminded him that he is driving. “Eyes on the road.” It’s hard to get mad at Griffin. “I love you all, including you, Chloe,” he broke the silence. Anna didn’t look up but mustered a low, “Love you, Griffy.” She does. The sunlight didn’t seem to bother Anna as much as it did me. Her head gazed forward and her lips formed a small pout. The sun made her eyes look even more blue, and in this moment I thought she was so beautiful. I leaned my head on her shoulder in an attempt to connect, “this is the worst drive ever,” she whispered. She understands my feelings better than most people and she, like me, felt uncomfortable in the painful reality that we were about to kill our cat.