Broken Doll

A year ago, my cat was sick. A high fever that wouldn’t go away. Massive, overnight weight loss. Lethargy, glazed eyes, weakness. He barely ate or drank.

He was dying. So was I.

And he couldn’t understand why it hurt so bad, why he felt sick. He couldn’t comprehend that he was dying.

I knew, but could do nothing but watch him die. And love him. And die a little every minute as I watched.

And here I am again. It can’t comprehend why — I can’t comprehend why — but it’s dying. And all I can do it watch it die, loving him, and die a little every minute I watch.

I see all the reasons lined up in their rows, but can’t make sense of the choices.

We’re in the death throes. I’m not sure he allows himself to care. But I do.

I can’t even hold his hand as it dies. I can only watch, and cry, and die a little, every minute.