Going Home

When your beloved is 16 months old you have no idea that this day, this day when he does not hop up with excitement on the windowsill, does not fly onto your bed but must be fetched, lies quietly while you decide to call the vet just in case, protests as usual as you stuff him into his plush, luxury kitty carrier, moans as you drive down the road, then lies quietly, cowers at the dogs barking at the vet, the cats meowing, then begins to breathe more rapidly, does not want to get up from the weighing scale, is carried by the distressed vet to the back room where you go to see him, frantic now, wanting only to go home with you.
You do not know as you drive home in tears, in shock, as you want to turn around, go back, sit by his side, as you go home anyway, as you get stopped for forgetting to register the car and the young policeman, hearing your words and seeing your face, says " I lost two last year" and lets you go, still you do not know when you come home, wait by the phone, hear that he is sleeping, is resting, may make it through, may survive on medication for years, ten maybe, you wait by the phone, you wait for the time you may return, hold him again, feel his wet kiss, his soft fur, his tiny body, still you wait until the final call and you never realized it would be the last day.