Spring recap and request

Well, it's been a busy semester: trying out a relationship for five weeks, playing a bit part in the WF Theatre production of Gilbert and Sullivan's The Gondoliers (so much fun!), touring London/Stonehenge/Normandy/Paris with Jennie, taking and failing British Literature, followed by re-evaluating what the crap I'm doing for the umpteenth time. For now, I've set my sights on my degree. In the past two years, I've been content to plod along at the rate of one class per semester; not any longer. Unfortunately, there are two classes I absolutely must complete that will not be offered until at least Fall '09. Soooooooo, that means I'll still maintain my current pace but add to that a class each summer session, and in this way I will fulfill all my requirements for graduation in two years. Class of 2010, here I come!

As exciting as it is to finally have a plan, I've cried more in the last week than I have in quite some time. The reason is the health of my cat, Snowflake. Many of you already know that my cat is mentally unstable: for the last six or seven years, when his stress level reached a certain threshold, like if he was confronted by well-meaning but over-friendly strangers, Snowflake would turn into El Gato Diablo. Screaming, hissing, the stuff of nightmares. Sadly, his condition has worsened dramatically over the last year; instead of being triggered by lots of new smells and noises and people, he is set off by threats imagined in his poor, addled brain. Instead of months between 'episodes,' it's now days or even hours.

Mom had been telling me about this progression for the last several months, and I finally witnessed this fragile state when I went home last weekend. When I walked in the door, along came my furry friend, trotting happily with that look of anticipation of a good scratch behind the ears: Eyes wide, tail straight up save for his trademark candy cane hook to his left, back claws clacking on the kitchen floor. It's the welcome he's given me for over ten years. Within an hour of my arrival, however, that same cat was batting and biting at me wildly, all because Alan had walked too close to him.

Once Mom had successfully lured him into a room upstairs (where he would remain quarantined for almost a full day), she and I had a long, tearful talk about his condition. We agreed that, as much as we love him, the time has come to euthanize dear Snowflake.

There's nothing like deciding to end the life of a friend. Worse still is planning how to go about it. When should we make the appointment? How are we going to get him to the vet? What if he has another meltdown while we're trying to load him up? The last thing I want is to have to cram my cat in the carrier while he's flipping out. Then what happens while we're at the vet? Do we just drop him off? Will we get a chance to say goodbye? Do we want to be there at the very end, or will it be too painful to witness my buddy fading from life, to see that moment when Snowflake is no longer Snowflake but a cat's body?

And then after the vet come the hardest questions of all: Do we want his remains, or should we let the vet dispose of them? As a PetSmart employee, I've delivered dead animals to the in-store vet for disposal. I've seen the shapes of dogs and cats wrapped tightly in tape and garbage bags, and the thought of my friend tied up like waste in a dismal freezer is more than I can bear. But then, if we keep his remains, where will we put them? Should we cremate them and scatter them someplace? No, I don't want to let the cat who had such a solid presence in my life dissolve into the wind. A part of me thinks scattering his ashes would symbolize returning Snowflake to nature, letting go, moving on. As healthy as it sounds, I still want to hold on, to cling desperately to the last vestiges of the cat who for so many years did not change, who serves as a link to so many happy memories going all the way back to December 4, 1994, when at a Christmas party an eleven-year-old boy closed his eyes and held out his hands to find a four-month-old kitten wiggling tentatively in his fingers.

Well, tomorrow's the big day. At 10am, Mom and I will deliver Snowflake to the vet where he will be sedated slightly, then we'll be able to hold him as the final dose is administered. Oh, and as for what to do with his remains? Snowflake was an indoor cat all his life since we have a US highway running just beyond the backyard; we tried letting him out within the fenced area a few times, but of course, my buddy wasn't satisfied and would always start climbing the fence until we shooed him off. It seems appropriate, then, that we bury him just past the fence, where he always wanted to go.

I'd appreciate your thoughts and prayers. I may be fighting tears for a long time to come.