and in that beautiful green, I saw eternal peace

I woke up at 9:30 with the same headache I had gone to bed with. A combination of slight dehydration and too much on my mind. And no text message. I didn’t want to wake my brother up just yet. I figured that one way or another, it had probably been a long night. I grabbed another coconut water from the fridge and packed another one for Angel. I got the last can of Rio Mare from the pantry. I looked up that pedialyte thing that both Puji and I had read up on last night. I figured I’d have time to stop by the pharmacy on the way there. It’s not that I had any grand ideas about Angel making it through this. This was all just to make it a little more bearable for her while she slowly got to where she had to get. I finally cracked a sent him a text.  He got back to me more or less right away. She had drank some more throughout the night. But she had also peed on the couch, involuntarily, he guessed. I couldn’t exactly read between those lines. But I got the gist of it when he called me. Time to let her go. That’s what I heard in his tired voice. I told him I’d be there by eleven. I didn’t stop by the pharmacy after all. It was warmer out today. Last night's snow had turned to slush. I dropped my bags in my room and went straight upstairs. My brother was lying on the couch with Angel huddled close to him, more or less exactly how I had expected to find them. She didn’t look any better and she didn’t look any worse. Her litter box was in the room. I noticed the stain on the couch and the carpet directly below it was a little wet as well. The first thing that struck me was the faint smell of urine. For the first time in forever, Angel actually smelled like a sick old person. The small tupperware from which she had miraculously drank from in the car the night before looked as full as ever. I could see tiny hairs and tinier particles floating on its surface now. I doubt she would drink anymore. I left the room for five minutes just to go feed Chillum, who was blissfully unaware that she would probably never see the older cat who always growled at her, ate her food and then sat on her pillow atop the speaker when she was done. I changed Angel’s water anyway and opened up the fresh can of Rio Mare. She was barely interested in either. Since yesterday, it seemed her chin was perpetually soaked from lightly dunking her nose into whatever bowl we placed in front of her, only to lick whatever few drops found their way near her tongue. It felt strange to touch that little patch of skin the vet had shaved off to locate the vein under her neck. I had wanted to strangle him for missing it the first time. All for that useless blood test. The only thing that looked a little better today was the fur on her back. All the holding and cuddling and petting had put some of those errant hairs back into place. But her eyes looked more cloudy than ever - the beautiful green in them begging for some kind of closure. It was hard to tell just how much she was suffering because she hardly made any sound now aside from the groan of her purring as she let out one long exhale after another. I held my breath and then made the phone call. I made the appointment for 3:30. My brother said he wanted to go home for a little bit so I slowly brought all of Angel’s stuff back to my room for the last time. First I brought down her litter and then I brought down all her food and water. And finally I took her down. I was relieved no one was around. These would be our last few hours alone. I closed the door behind us and put her on the couch with me. I plugged in my laptop, put my phone to charge and sat down next to her. I was already crying when I called Puji and told her the appointment had been made. Again she tried to convince me it was for the best and I realized the waiting is what was killing me most. I watched Angel get up and make her way to the chair by the desk. She didn’t make it. I went over and helped her up. Doing all this with Puji on the line was just too painful. It was just past noon now. I had left her Sesame Street blanket in the car so I placed her on one of the pillows. I didn’t like that the pillow was leaning over slightly so I fixed it. Without really thinking, I grabbed my guitar and sat down next to her and started finger picking absently. I felt Angel immediately utter a little sigh of relief and then I just started singing her name in whatever first melody came to my head. That’s when I realized just how important music had become to her life at the Mothership. She was constantly surrounded by it. Engrossed in it. When she had first moved in, loud noise had terrified her. I remember hearing how she would bolt from the room those early, awkward days when Jules was recording drums in that messy room that was new to both of them. I had seen her fear with my own eyes. The way she had adapted was what had surprised me most. I never dreamed she would have become so sociable. Maybe that’s why it felt so right to play and sing for her, no matter how amateur my own performance had become. I knew that my voice was soothing her, especially in that sweet range she must have come to associate with me. I played for her whatever little was inside me. And when I was done I put the guitar down on the carpet, placed the pillow on my lap and placed her on top of it. I stroked her head, starting behind her ears. I made my way down her sharp, protruding spine. There was barely anything left of her now. It's like all the moisture had been slowly sucked out of her. I smelled something worse than urine. So I took a kleenex and wiped her. She probably hadn’t eaten enough in the last couple of days to make diarrhea a concern but she smelled a little of it anyway. It was a small price to pay to be close to her. And she just took it all in. Weak as she had become, she didn’t resort to her usual shifting to make herself more comfortable. However she lay seemed good enough for her now. I watched the slight rise and fall of her back with concern. I thought about combing her one last time but I didn’t have the heart to get up and disturb her. I think a big part of me didn’t want her to get up either. I didn’t want to see her struggle to get up. I didn’t want to hear the thud of her landing on the floor. To see the unnatural hourglass dent in her hips. To have to survey her walking helplessly to her bowl. To watch her walk through the cat flap and then wait by the washroom door. And howl. I especially didn’t want to hear that howl ever again. So we just stayed on the couch. I kept checking my phone, waiting for time to pass. Or stop. Only hours are left, I’d think to myself. Now only an hour is left. Only minutes are left. I knew what this countdown was all about. It wasn’t about death. It was about losing something very near and dear to you. It was about having no choice but to say goodbye. It was about letting go. Angel finally did get up. She got up, resolutely, and made her way to the door. She stepped through the cat flap and into the hallway and made her way to her litter. She probably would have made it too. But I grabbed her and placed her gently inside it to save her the trouble. And she went, gracefully. I took her back into the room and tried to get her to drink a little more. Nothing. It was just about time to go. I left her on the couch and started packing whatever I needed to bring, which really wasn’t much. I didn’t have the heart to put all her food and things away in front of her so I just let everything be. I called Puji so she could say her final goodbye. She told me to be strong and I promised her, through tears, that I would. I gathered my things, put on my jacket and picked up Angel. I just carried her in my arms. Again I quickly took her around the downstairs so she could say goodbye for the last time. It was all too much. I brought her to the passenger seat and got in. This time, she didn’t climb the back of my seat to perch herself just above my head and stare out the window in bewilderment. She went straight for the back passenger seat, still folded over from the last thing I had been transporting. She crouched under there, where I couldn’t see her. Maybe she was hiding. Maybe she knew. Maybe she would go right then and there. Just to have the last laugh. Just to cheat the poison in the syringe one last time. I glanced back at her every chance I could but she had really done her best to put herself out of view. I got to the vet maybe ten minutes ahead of schedule. Angel didn’t complain or say a word as I placed her on the counter. The technician had read my mind and told me it would be easier if I got the payment out of the way now. I signed the form acknowledging that I was indeed authorized to end her life. I was already crying when my brother walked in. Maybe he even put his arm around me as we were shown into the room. How many times had I been in this room already? How many Tigger, Pepe and Fiona checkups? Different syringes with different purposes administered to very different protests. I remembered how much we had both cried when we had handed them the box with Tigger’s stiff body. This time was expected. It was supposed to be easier. But it still hurt like hell. I took off my jacket and my schoolbag and placed Angel and her blanket on top of that cold, stainless steel table. The tears were beyond my control now. The doctor walked in and explained the procedure in a gentle voice. There was nothing fake about her. I listened. But more than anything I stroked Angel, who just sat there - sniffing, squinting and watching - without saying a word. When she mentioned a sedative I explained it probably wouldn’t even be necessary. I doubt Angel had the strength to make a fuss. She took my word for it. She left us a little bit of time to say our goodbyes. I immediately put my head to hers. I must have crumpled over because I felt my brother hold me even tighter. Maybe I told her to be strong. Maybe I told her not to be scared. Maybe I told her it was going to be okay, that in a little while she’d be free of all her pain. I know I told her I loved her. Then I let my brother say his own goodbyes. The doctor walked in with the syringe. I wasn’t able to focus on the colour of its contents but I did see that there was a butterfly attached to the end of it. Probably to delineate the lethal dose. She explained something about counting to three and that it wouldn't be long after that. They shaved a little patch of fur off her other leg after I recounted all the problems the other vet had had in clumsy French. The razor revealed another delicate, tiny chicken of a leg. Angel, withered down to nearly nothing, still needed one last push to let go. The technician was probably holding on to her way more tightly than she had to. Because Angel never flinched. She didn’t protest and she didn’t jerk as the needle sank gently into her skin. It found its vein and the doctor counted to three. My brother and I were both holding her now. And as the vet counted down I broke down over her body and let out a quiet moan. And Angel looked up at both of us as the poison did its thing. Her head slowly slumped forward and we both guided it gently down. I pressed my head against hers for the last time and told her to go to sleep. The vet had the stethoscope to her body and told us that whatever was still going on was mostly involuntary at this point. Angel was gone but her eyes were still open. And in the excruciating pain of that moment I would have sworn she was still alive. Her eyes, which had gone cloudy with sickness and age, now looked an impossibly clear green, like the colour of Rumi’s grass in that perfect green field. And in that beautiful green, I saw eternal peace.