The Hard Way to Say Goodbye

I picked Axel's ashes up from the veterinarian today. It has been almost three weeks since we put him sleep and the call that his ashes were ready peeled away all the scabs that had formed since Christmas Eve.

The house is cleaner now. Until he was gone, it never occurred to me how really messy Axel was. The piles of food and spilled water next to the cat's bowls. The litter scattered in front of the box in the basement and throughout the doghouse in the kitchen. The hairballs and piles of half-digested food on the floor. There is no longer an undertone of eau de piss from his persistent peeing underneath the puppy pads in the corner of the dining room. The pee in the dining room and the messy litter boxes we knew about. The rest came as a surprise, as we assumed it was a combination of all three of them.

The house is quieter now. We don't hear the thumping that told us he was running across the floor, lifting up his useless back legs to gain some speed. We don't hear as much meowing. There isn't as much purring. He isn't waiting by the door or on the stairs.

We were too late to help save him. Irritable bowel disease. Possibly a tumor too. A heart damaged by an unknown murmur. By the time we realized he was ill, he had lost two pounds, had bloody diarrhea, was consistently throwing up almost everything he tried to eat. Over a month's time we tried one medication, then another. He refused his food, threw up the medication, spent most of his time hiding underneath the bed. His spark was dying. By the morning of Christmas Eve we knew that it was time.

I took some photographs, that last morning. Axel on the bed, sitting in the sun.

One last trip to the veterinarian. One last consent form. One last credit card payment. A thousand dollars over a month's time, to save our cat. One last goodbye. Me in tears. Toddler Alien confused and a little bit scared, seeing his mother cry and his father so sad. An empty carrier, a long, sad drive afterwards to my parents for Christmas Eve.

Just shy of twelve years ago, we adopted Axel. A Valentine's Day gift from me to Jeff. Our first decision as a married couple, adopting a cat. Saturday, Jeff and I celebrate our twelfth wedding anniversary. Axel's ashes sit in a slightly tacky looking tin box above the china cabinet. My mind racing ahead, some to an artisan, to be shaped in the glass. Some to be scattered in the backyard, Axel in the outdoors he loved.

Jeff stops my thoughts. We have time to decide, he says. Give it time. 

Toddler Alien asks where Axel is.

Jeff glances at the tin on top of the china cabinet. He's home, Toddler Alien. He is here.