Four Days is Not Enough

Only Moments Left with Rosy

My heart is tearing in two.
I wrote a fictional story about adding a found kitten
into my life.
Into my five-year-old lady-cat's life, as well.
That story,
a week old and never finished
until two days past
when magic intervened.

My heart aches with inability.
The desire to share the cat story has left me.
My life has changed,
my lady-cat's life altered.
She was just getting settled with our new little charge
until in the wee hours this morning

the illusion vanished.

Rosendo (Rosy) was too frail,
too weak to fight any longer
against the slight little cold that plagued him
when found, cold, underfed, neglected.
Not yet four days in our lady-cat's life,
bouncy and unintimidated by her
growls and hisses.

Rosy ate ravenously on Sunday.
Drank water,
shunned milk,
frolicked with a toy mouse from
my lady-cat's collection,
found her feather wand and made it his own.

Monday, a hopeful day for us all.
My lady-cat was calming down,
letting Rosy roam throughout,
her hisses and growls subdued,
letting Rosy explore
even take a snooze in
her favorite places.

Rosy ate less frequently on Tuesday,
drank water a little less often.
Regular meals,
not so famished.
Clean water,
not so thirsty.

Talkative but no so plaintive.

Rosy climbed the furniture
scrabbled across the keyboard as I typed,
kissed the back of my neck
with sandpaper kisses,
looked lovingly into my eyes,
his eyes bright, clear, turquoise.
His nose dryer,
only a tiny snort now and then.

At night, our little man-cat to be
slept in a blanket-lined box
on a pillow to keep him warm,
a sad little teddy bear to keep him company
in the darkness.
Another blanket draped across,
to ward off any chill
while my lady-cat crouched nearby
watching over him,
making sure he was sleeping.

Rosy loved his box.
Whenever he was tired, he went in,
took a nap.
Whenever he was hungry,
he found me,
mewed in his scrappy, rusty-hinge way,
scooted down the hall to potty.

Rosy adapted well in those first moment
of our life.
Taking over,
taking charge,
charming us,
making our life his own.

Rosy ate little on Wednesday.
Drank no water I could see,
I added water to his meals,
only two or three.
His potty habits normal,
his eyes still clear,
his nose a bit wet,
breathing well, still.
A hopeful sign.

Rosy still had energy
to climb upon the bed
testing the limits of his boundaries
with my lady-cat sleeping there,
wearing down defenses,
gurgles and chirps
replaced snarls and hisses.

Well into the afternoon,
Rosy's squeaky-hinge voice
turned weary,
less vocal by evening meal.
Into his box he went
and slept
and slept.
He'd been a busy little boy
the day before.

Four hours later,
worried he might get too hungry,
I lifted him from his box,
placed him in front of his meal,
a bit of water added.
Eating,
a little less enthusiastically.
He trotted down the hall
a bit slower,
used the potty,
healthy and unstrained.
Still hope.

As if in a hurry now,
his crusted nose had cleared,
yet eyes clouded over,
his body,
sadly limp.
I warmed his blanket,
snuggled with him
while he slept.

Thursday,
surprised by his will
Rosy stayed around one more day.
Medicine administered,
supplements plunged into tummy,
warm blankets applied,
Lady-cat wary and alert,
we all began to watch
and worry.

His body too weak,
his will worn down,
Lady-cat watching closer still,
questioning why
he was not poking around.
Ready to show compassion
Finally taking a liking to Rosy.

Midnight,
his breathing shallow
he could not last this night.
Kitty angels gathered near,
his box sits empty,
his crystal dishes
waiting there.

Tears.

Hours pass.
He lies upon my chest
hearing my beating heart,
feeling the ache lingering there,
melting my soul
with deep turquoise eyes
and soft little sighs.

More tears.

Rosy was too weak,
too bony,
too frail,
too long in the wild
without a mother's love.
Too soon to be alone,
too late for life with us,
for fate had taken him
home.

Goodbye little Rosy,
the rainbow bridge
awaits.