by Bernard Jan
We are lying next to each other; not even six and a half feet separate us. Each of us in his own thoughts, chained by our fears and tortured by our own pain. But here we are, together, as we were at the time of the rocket attacks on Zagreb when you were still a baby, and when I didn’t want to leave you alone in the apartment while the air was screaming with a siren alarm. We were both scared then. Although it was a little over fourteen years ago, I remember well your unrest and your big, round, yellow-green eyes, further enlarged by fear. I remember when you purred when I sat next to you on a two-seater in the living room (which we have, in the meantime, replaced with a three-seater) and took you in my lap. You were never one of those cats who purred loud and often; actually, you purred rather quietly, shyly and rarely. And you meowed rarely, talking to us. But at that moment you rejected your restraint and presented me with a few soothing and timeless moments in nights filled with uncertainty, hostility, fear and the flame of candles.
As if it was encoded in your genes, you hated to travel by car, so we took you only a few times to the unknown environment of our cottage. During the ride, you would take revenge on us by throwing up and doing the big business in the car which prompted us to open the windows in a hurry. You therefore spent most of your time with us in the apartment, showing yourself as a worthy, fearless and skilled hunter, as were your ancestors and brothers. If I recall well, on two occasions Mom had to remove from your little jaws stiff and scared sparrows you caught on the balcony. Your walk on the thin railing, beyond which was a yawning chasm to the concrete courtyard sixty-five feet below, chilled our blood! Even now I’m shaking from the thought of what would have happened if you slipped, and what would be left of you if your twenty-two pounds—what you weighed back then—began to plunge. How many years of life you took from us then, and yet you are the one who is leaving before us all....
Your feline instinct didn’t prevent you, regardless of the fear of the unknown and undiscovered world, from jumping from the terrace of the cottage and slipping away into the garden. I panicked that, guided by the call of nature and curiosity that has killed so many cats, you would squeeze under the fence and irrevocably and forever disappear into the wild. I ran after you like crazy, almost jumping from the terrace myself, pulled you from under the cypress tree planted right next to the fence and firmly held you against my chest. Two hearts pounded against each other, both in fear of what could be or what would happen. You, fearing punishment that did not come, and I terrified by the vision of the loss that had not occurred. I wasn’t indifferent when, the next morning, Mom told me you were waiting at the door before the church bell finished ringing and took her for a walk through the wet grass, bathed in dew, over which fog was still lazily dozing. You took her for an early morning walk, step by step, carefully lifting your paws and lowering them in a small, private world teeming with life and creatures you knew only from the heritage transferred from your father and mother and their fathers and mothers, and that you didn’t know personally. Mom followed you, shivering and still half-asleep, in a chilly rural morning, taking care of you, of your every step. You prowled, smelled the air and the ground, moved whiskers and raised your head, belly wet and kept flat with the grass, steering your tail and transmitting strange signals with it. It was your conquest. It was a time of youth and research expeditions. It was a time of joy, laughter; but also fear that the gods of nature would grab you in your quest. The fear of losing you was omnipresent. I couldn’t resist it because I rather possessively loved you and cared for you. Because I took responsibility when I brought you home. The moment I took you in my arms, when I felt life breathing on the palm of my hand in the shape of a small, furry ball shaking with shock and uncertainty, I realized the enormity of the world and the love that brought us into existence.
You were small. You lay in my hand and I could have crushed you if I squeezed my palm a little harder—and you were larger than life. In that moment, in those first few minutes before I gave you to Mom, I felt the power of nature, the power of the divine and driving forces of the world, the magnificent universe that provides us a home and the monumentality of a responsibility I took with you. I knew I would stay with you until the end, that we would spend life together. Then I didn’t know when and how the end would come. Nor who would be the first to say it’s over. Encyclopedias of nice images have been written since then, enriched with beautiful photographs of warm and cheerful colors. While the last pages are being written and the cover of the last volume slowly being closed, the fear from which I was suffering then now seems so benign and ridiculous.
I agree and swear on another double and triple the dose, only to stop the inevitable! I agree and swear on all the joys and sorrows, all the uncertainties, my bloody hands and your claws stuck in my arms and legs, only to delay what you are telling me with your every look. I see you are saying goodbye. You are the one who will first take another road, leaving us in chains of sorrow, to wait, believe and hope that we will once again meet. In a world with no promises, in a world which by the hour seems more alien and less the home to which I belong.
If there is such a thing as déja vu, now I need it more than ever. I invoke it. I pray for a break in the repeating of what has already happened. The reason wants to move on, but feelings do not want to unmoor and sail away without you into a new world. It’s hard.... And I’m afraid it will be even harder.
I’m breaking down.
I’m breaking down—that is a concept, that is a word, that is a construction of words which acquires a different and, for me, clearer meaning. I am not a cracked branch of a tree, which breaks off from its source of life, nor am I a broken nail that was chipped due to negligence, and has then fallen off. But the pain that accompanies a broken-off nail is the pain I feel while I’m breaking down. In myself, in the silence of my being, without a scream or any visible sign but tears.
My love, if you go away in a few days, the world will lose its colors and darken like the land of Mordor. If you go away and leave me to wander aimlessly, alone in this sea become wild, like a ship with a broken rudder and drowned sailors, and if I don’t find comfort in the warmth of your body, clutched in my embrace at the end of the day, I’m afraid I won’t survive. I’m not afraid of waters and I am not a non-swimmer, but foam and wind could suffocate me before I swim up to you—my shore, solid ground. Allow me to love you a little longer and breathe a few more times before I realize I must carry on alone. You won your victory; the hardest battle is still in front of me.
I don’t turn the pages anymore, but count the hours in anticipation of Saša’s arrival. I hope that yesterday you didn’t notice the shock in his eyes when he saw you and gently told you Viola. I could not say how it happened, but then everything was already decided. We won’t be able to wait for you to leave by yourself; we will have to help you in this.
Euthanasia and putting down are the words I avoid most these days. To the extent that I don’t want to admit they exist and snapped at Luka and Snježana when they told me we are torturing you by keeping you alive like this. I was determined that we will give you medication therapy as long as you show even the smallest willingness to fight for your life.
I regret that I went that day to the association (usually it is not difficult for me to work on a holiday) to catch up with some of the backlog that piled up to the sky, all from our burning desire and enthusiasm to help so many animals. Now it seems to me that I have not helped them at all, and that I stole from you a few precious hours we could have spent together.
They weren’t ill-intentioned when they said that. After all, Jelena e-mailed me too that she could never let you suffer so much. Maja, who also was in the office and who affectionately called you pee-pee because of your habit of peeing on our parquet (this is why she collected and sent you newspapers after we cut out the articles we needed for our archive), also worried about you. But how could I explain to them, how could I explain to anyone, how much you mean to me?! Your presence in my life is like a roo
m filled with lamps. When you’re gone, the brightest, the prettiest one will go out. And leave behind the half-light of unclear shadows.
I agree that no form of addiction is good. I know it only too well. However, disappointed in people and the world in which I must exist, I was unwary when I became attached to you. It didn’t happen overnight. It was a lengthy process, and therefore the trap was more hidden. But the addiction therefore became stronger! I don’t care how people will characterize me: a lunatic or a sick person. I don’t care about the opinion of such people. But I care about you, as I would care about my brother if I had the chance to get to know him—an immediate family member, or a loyal friend to whom this faithless world gave birth. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but their words won’t hurt me. What I’m not sure about, but would like to know, is if I have been at least half as faithful to you as you have been faithful to me. Will you forgive me the moments I have devoted to others, which were rightly yours?
Tonight Saša injected a new dose of hope into me. I almost cried with relief and joy when I was in the bathroom above the sink, holding you by your front legs, and Saša was gently and patiently squeezing your bladder from behind. I have to admit it was a funny situation! First you meowed in protest, but then you purred loudly from relief. You purred so strongly that I felt vibrations in my fingers! I was tempted to kiss you, but we were in the midst of more important business. When I put you down on your foam-like soft pillow, where joyful puppies smiled, slept and played, you did not move, but remained lying as I placed you. You only sank into it, forgetting at least for a moment about the pain that tortured your body. Your face was radiant with pleasure, and your good eye followed us while we escorted Saša to the door. Bye, love, see you tomorrow, he told you on leaving. Luckily for you and unfortunately for me, but I didn’t know that then.
Night is falling, and I am getting ready for another vigil. With Mom and Dad I again consider putting the box where you can sleep next to your food so you would not have to take the trouble of going back and forth. I am even thinking about moving onto a three-seater in the living room to sleep next to you. My idea is not well received because you decide to sleep under the table in my room, and, even before, while your box was there, you would not sleep in it. Therefore, I go earlier to bed today so I have the strength to stay awake with you. But I can’t sleep. Since I don’t have the habit of going to bed before eleven o’clock—if I lose track of time reading a book I will even go to sleep about one in the morning—my biorhythm is playing games with me and there’s no way that, in spite of being tired, I can fall asleep. I end up in an armchair in front of a mind-numbing television program on Monday evening.
Tonight, also, we go for our first walk just before midnight. You drag yourself from your shelter under the table and wait for me to open my eyes and lift you in my arms. Obediently and quietly I carry you to your bowls and, in the dark, watch how you alternately drink water and diluted milk. Your hind legs awkwardly shape a letter L tucked under you, and with every few new sips your tummy becomes a little bigger. Your ribs spookily stick out of your sides, emphasizing the emptiness you have turned into between your spine and pelvic bones. The bones of your hind legs protrude from it sharply, covered with a thin layer of skin and rare hair, corroded by urine. That gets me thinking again whether the milk you drank sped up your deterioration because cow’s milk draws calcium from the bones instead of enriching them. But you want to drink only milk, even if so diluted that it tastes like water flavored with milk. Water is your last choice, which you don’t fancy much. I understand. We all have our little desires which we are not willing to give up, so I do not make a big deal out of it, nor have I prevented you from drinking. Even if I did, what would I achieve? Your way and destination are already known. It is only a question of time.
Happy that tonight you don’t make disturbing noises, as you did the previous night, I carefully lift you up. Your swollen tummy warms the wrist of my right hand while I carry you to your bed. I cuddle you and tell you to sleep, and I do the same. Another walk begins about an hour later, and then you eat a few dietary crackers. The situation from last night—you scared me when your front right leg twisted so much that it turned into a distorted letter O—does not repeat. Actually, it was more like a frightening combination of the letter O and the letter S. You shook it, tried to stand on it, but it buckled under you each time and you stumbled, almost diving with your nose into a bowl of crackers. I tried to help you by supporting you, but I grabbed you clumsily and you started to choke. I carried you to the three-seater and laid you down on your pillow. It was about three in the morning. I sat next to you and stroked your bad leg with my hand, and you laid it on the index finger of my left hand and left it there while I kept stroking you. I was breaking down, watching you like this. Precious, meek, humble, cuddly, and suave. Pretty, despite the illness that turned your once beautiful, gray-brown fur, rich with tiger stripes, into several shades of brown fur which has lost its stripes, and got dandruff instead. When you lifted your leg off my finger, I walked barefoot back to my room to retrieve my blanket, for I was cold. I cuddled next to you, wrapped in the blanket, still keeping an eye on you. About five to seven minutes went by and your little head dropped. It was getting heavier and heavier and inch by inch lowered itself to the pillow until it sank into it. You were sleeping, and I continued to guard over you.
I wondered what you dreamed. Did you have a peaceful sleep or did you feel pain even while dreaming? Your legs and body didn’t twitch as they usually did when you were chasing someone in a dream. I wondered, how it was to hunt in a dream and then wake up aware that you could not run, let alone hunt someone? How did it feel... to wake up and stand on weak legs which produced thuds as you clumsily walked on parquet and carpet? With effort, but determined to carry you from one end of the apartment to another.
Sometimes I would love to penetrate your thoughts and find out what is going on in your head, instead of reading from your eyes and facial expressions how strong is the current of your love for us. Or what you really think, how you feel about us. Mom is the one who mainly feeds you and cleans up after you; Dad’s responsibility is to give you his healing energy by stroking you with the sole of his foot. Sometimes you sponge something from him. You come to me when you’re in the mood for cuddling, and you wait for me in my room when I’m coming home. This room has become your permanent residence in the last few days. I would like to better communicate with you, but my limited body and mind prevent me. I would like to know how cats function and what you talk about when you meet. Do you have the same quarrels as we, stupid people, or do you communicate in a more sophisticated and humane way?
For almost forty minutes I sit next to you, not ceasing to think. If Mom only knew her wish will soon come true! More than once she has pestered me to write something about you, but I wonder if she had this in mind when she asked me. It was long ago when she last mentioned it. Then you were still in full strength and full of adventures you repeated as in child’s play. What comes clearest to mind is when you, so tiny, ran under the two-seater, and we couldn’t get you out until you mustered courage to come out by yourself; or when you forced Dad and me to move the two-seater so Mom could catch you. And when you became too big to crawl under it, you hid between the two-seater and the wall, and Mom and I, each from one side of the two-seater, called you and tried to lure you out. Not to mention how you liked to crawl in closets and a chest for bedding, especially during the winter! Besides being warmer there, hiding in closets and other hidden places gave you special satisfaction. Things have changed since then. We all have changed. Only what we feel for each other remains the same. We for you and you for us. The only thing that has remained stable and strengthened with time.
I adjusted the cloth with which we cover you during the cold winter days because you no longer have strength to warm yourself. It’s too late now. I will never get those answers. If you die on me, if you leave me, I don’t think I will have another animal. N
ow I understand my mom when she said not in a million years would she have another cat after Fanika’s death. I didn’t understand her. I didn’t listen to her, and I didn’t respect her decision. This is not my punishment, but now I will find out too in the cruelest and most painful way what she meant when she said never again. All right, I won’t go that far and say never again; but chances are high you are my first, last and only animal. Adopting someone after you, after all we’ve been through together, seems like a betrayal. Like the desecration of everything beautiful we had. And that was in abundance. I wouldn’t trade the time we had for all the wonders of this world.
It is interesting that you too accepted us as your family more than you accepted other animals. I remember well your running away from Micka, uncle’s cat, when we brought her to socialize with you. It was chaos, and I thought you two would pluck each other’s eyes out. You needed five years to stop hiding from the people who visited us, to trust and approach them, whether you already knew them or they were complete strangers to you. For years you’ve felt the trauma you experienced when you were born, when savage young brats from Zagreb’s Peščenica poured water over you until Sonja, a friend of the family, rescued you and brought you as my present for Mom’s birthday. (It was a perfect excuse for me to finally get a cat!) God, you were so tiny when I brought you wrapped up in a cloth to our apartment and showed you to my parents! Mom was gaping in amazement and disbelief, thinking I was joking, while my old man almost went crazy with worry about his allergy to cat hair. (Yeah right! Later it turned out that this was his perfect excuse for me not to get a cat!) For two months he kept asking when Sonja would return for you. (It was a story we sold him—that Sonja had to temporarily home you with us because of her cat, but that she would come back for you—playing the card that over time he would get used to you so he wouldn’t give you away.) In the end he was so fond of you that every fifteen minutes or less he went to see what Pipo was doing. Yes, it’s not a joke. They gave you that stupid nickname after food you liked to eat before you had to switch your diet to crackers for diabetics.