Kitty Dies

As we cut her hair into a graduated, slight A-line bob, the tears flowed down her already tear-streaked face.  "I had to put my kitty down last night."  He was fourteen years old and had a cancerous tumor.  Through the last couple of years of battling cancer, he would still manouver his way down the steps to greet her when she came home, and Tina never asked how much the bill would be. The oncologist said, We're sorry, but he has a couple of days only.  She made a comfortable place for him on his favorite chair in the TV room.  She fed him baby food from her fingertip and they sat together and watched TV.  The oncologist and his assistant went to her house and put him to sleep. 

She kept apoloziging for her tears.  I said, "Your heart is open, this is a beautiful thing."  I was struck by her vulnerability.  She had never shown even a smidge of this side of her before.  In fact she said, 'I'm a schooled extrovert, I am an introvert really.'

Her ususal unruly hair that liked to kick out and not participate with the rest of the haircut, layed down, smooth and shiny.  Her hair had finally grown out enough to create this shape.  The  spunky ends didn't have to fight anymore.

Posted on October 26, 2007 and filed under Cancer, Death, Life, Love.