No more filthy litter box. No more allergies aggravated by hair and dander. The cat would not hog his pillow anymore, would not howl inexplicably at 4 am. His not-so-secret wish had come true.
The Goddamn cat was finally gone.
The night that cats were wished away was a hard one full of wine, tears, and spectacle...
But the wine was bitter, infused with subdued mourning. I shed tears silently in the shower. My spectacle lasted until the wine ran out.
Did you get my telepathic message as I held you in the front seat? You love riding in the car. How odd. You are shedding on me furiously and he is driving with his eyes swollen shut. Am I clutching you too tightly? So tightly, your hair is popping out?
I will drive home with your hair all over me. The only trace left of you.
Yes. I have to give you away so I can keep something, someone else. Someone bigger than you. Someone more important than you. Someone with a voice and opposable thumbs. But, you have been my voice, howling to be heard. Screaming to go out, bound to stay in, for some unseen reason.
You would not give me away. You would not put me in a box and hand me to a stranger. You would hold me. Pet me, and let me sleep on your pillow. You would get up at 4 am and open the door, again and again even if every one of those times I only stared at you and I didn't go out.
So trusting, so understanding, so patient. So this is the thanks you get, old friend.
It has to be done, doesn't it? I'm giving again. I'm giving away my voice to a stranger, and all I have left is my regret, my sorrow, my apology, my terrible sadness.
"The night that cats were wished away was a hard one full of wine, tears and spectacle."
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