He didn't wear his seatbelt

What if?

It all comes back to you, Nik. And your death. I create art in you memory, allowing my grief to sift from my fingers to my drawing pad. When something good happens, like buying that beautiful mandolin, I cry, “I’d rather have Nik.” When something bad happens, it kindles the embers of my sorrow, stirring up my tears like a tornado.

I try to change my life for the better, to do grand and noble things in your memory. And when I fail, as I often do, the wind howls through the hole that your death created, ripping my heart apart.

I have been accepted to Whidbey Island Writers, Nik, but have not, as yet, received a scholarship so that I can attend. It was a grandiose idea, a childhood dream. And if it doesn’t happen, I will be cut adrift. My schemes shattered and the idea that I could better myself to find some kind of meaning in your death destroyed.

I miss you, Nik. Every day.

Pets, angels in disguise

Lafcadio’s mom liked to cat around. A ferial female, she showed up on my friend Greg’s porch with five frisky kittens. He provided food and shelter and when they were old enough to give away, he trapped them in a cage. My son died and my daughter moved out, taking her cat with her. I needed a cuddly companion, so I came by and selected the biggest one.

Lafcadio didn’t have wings but he was an angel in disguise. A long hair gray tabby, he had the softest coat and the gentlest purr. He seemed to sense when I was sad, and he’d sit on my lap and churn away with his purr box until I smiled.

When I couldn’t sleep at night, I called him and he would sit on my pillow until I fell asleep. In the morning, he’d be on the end of the bed, entwined in my robe.

Lafcadio always had problems jumping up on things, and I thought that perhaps he needed eyeglasses. A month ago, he tried to hop up on the drier and hit the ground with a bang.

At first, I thought he had sprained his right rear leg, because he’d take a few tentative steps and fall on his right side. It seemed to get better, but he kept on trying to jump up on things, and then he began to wobble back and forth like a drunk. I checked him for ticks (they can cause parallazation), and poked and prodded his hind legs. He was not in any pain, but I wanted to know what he had and if it could be fixed.

I loaded him up in the cat carrier and took him to the vet. He weighs almost four pounds and meowed like a banshee in the car.

Lafcadio did not need glasses. He had congenital spine problems. The vet prescribed Prednisone, a steroid, which did not help him.

I didn’t mind having a crippled cat, and as long as he could get to his food and the litter box, I took care of him. His condition deteriorated rapidly. He dragged himself around with his front feet. His back end failed, and he lost bladder control. I hoped that his little heart would just give out, because I did not want to make the decision.

I carried him around and set up his food and water by the wood stove because he liked to sleep there. When I opened the front door, he’d wiggle his way to the porch to soak up some sun.

When he stopped purring, I knew he felt miserable. I made the call to the vet, wrapped him in a towel, and drove back to the vet. Lafcadio was terrified. He hated the car. He had lost his voice, and when he opened it to meow, nothing came out.

I held him in my arms and watched the tranquilizer take hold. I hope he knew I stayed with him until the end. His veins were so small that they had to give him the shot in the heart. He went quickly.

I buried him in Nik’s garden next to the bird feeder with a handful of Nik’s ashes. Nik didn’t like cats much, but I think he would have loved Lafcadio.

Lafcadio brought me great comfort and showed me unconditional love. Like I said, he was an angel in disguise. And now he has wings.