Hello everyone, I hope you're all doing well.
I wanted to share this creative non-fiction piece with you because even though it only won 2nd place, it's one of the best creative non-fiction pieces I've written according to other people. I'm my own worst judge of course, so I figure why not put it up on my blog for others to read? However, I think it's a relic of my past writing; so expect a different writing style and quality. I want to share my writing journey on this blog, and this was one important step in my journey!
This version is almost the exact same as it was when I sent it into the contest- somehow it got past a bunch of judges without a typo not being discovered. I also corrected some weird commas, but decided not to revise it truly, otherwise it wouldn't be the award winning piece. It's a much sadder piece than I normally write, but it felt important me last year, so I think it's worth sharing.
What was I doing here, making a choice that wasn’t mine to make?
The office felt cold and industrial. Tiffany didn’t like that. One foot in front of the other until she met a wall, then back, one foot in front of the other. Click click click. Claws on the floor, the sound of the seconds passing by. Click, click, click. She let out a cry, or maybe a howl. I wasn’t sure what to call it, but the sound yanked at my heartstrings, practically breaking them in half.
“Are we ready?” I heard the vet’s voice, but my eyes remained on the soul in front of me.
“I have to be,” I said reluctantly.
“You’re doing the right thing. She’s suffering so much.”
I watched as the vet picked up Tiffany and set her on the table. Only a small mat stopped her from standing on a cold piece of metal. She closed her eyes. In my mind, I knew the vet was injecting an anesthetic. I touched Tiffany’s fur, noticing how soft it still was. Not as soft as it used to be, before she fell ill. It used to be like a cloud, impossibly soft. Like the shimmer of sunlight on the water. It didn’t glisten anymore, because she hadn’t been eating well. But her fur was still soft, like silk. And beautiful, like a magnificent tiger’s. My hand ran over each stripe, each a stroke of paint on a masterfully created painting. Mother nature spent time placing each fur on her body. I rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was still warm, but she couldn’t stick out her tongue like she used to. And she used to, looking more like a dog on a summer day than a cat resting on a bed.
“She used to stick out her tongue. Just a little blep,” I muttered, not to inform the vet of Tiffany’s behaviors, more to grapple with the fact that petting Tiffany was to comfort myself.
Then came the last shot. Tiffany said nothing. She couldn’t protest because she was sleeping. Not of her own will. That’s what made it hard. She didn’t tell us she wanted to sleep forever. We had made that choice for her. Was it right? Was it what she wanted? I don’t think I’ll ever know, or feel that heavy weight on my shoulder be lifted.
“It’ll be a peaceful, quick ending,” the vet tried to reassure me.
But no words could reassure me. My face was already wet with tears. They seemed to flow without my permission. Each drop rubbed my cheek as if someone rubbed their thumb over my face. Except the tears were not as comforting as that motion would be. I attempted to speak, but the tears got caught in my throat. I felt like my throat had slammed the brake on my words the way you brake a car before you hit someone, “I didn’t think I would cry.”
My mother reassured me, “It’s hard for me too,” I felt her hand wrap around my free hand. But her warmth didn't make up for the warmth escaping Tiffany’s body. She grew colder every second. Every time I took a breath, she didn’t follow.
Suddenly she was gone. I took away my hand. The vet took Tiffany’s body away, and all I could do was make eye contact with my mother. She was doing much better than I was, but something in her eye told me she was only putting on a smile.
When the vet returned, Tiffany was in a coffin shaped box. I won’t forget that box. It had the cutest little drawing of a cat smiling, with two hearts next to it. Tiffany’s name was written and underlined. I felt my cheeks get wet once again. I didn’t hear what my mother and the vet said. This hand drawn cat showed the vet had taken the time to add this, and it meant a lot to see. It was like Tiffany was smiling, and reassuring me that everything would be ok. That what we’d done was what she would’ve wanted.
I walked out of the vet’s office, hugging the box close to me. In my mind, I know how the office looks from past visits. The tan walls with pawprints on it, newly remodeled. The office looked friendly after that remodel. Yet that day, those new details didn’t register. It still felt cold and gray. My focus was on Tiffany and my swirling thoughts as I watched her fade away.
Maybe what I had done that day was the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn’t. Looking back at it now, it’s still not easy to say. But what I do know is that I’m not watching Tiffany suffer through medications and pain. And that’s the best thing I could ask for.
It's hard to write an end to this blog post wit the end of the piece, so I'm just going to say thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful rest of the week.
-Rosetta 💖