Zits (5/1/09)


I just got a phone call from my mother asking me to join her in bringing my childhood cat, Tiger, to the vet tomorrow to be put down. Tiger is a 19-year-old calico that I found in front of a neighbor’s basement apartment when I was in the fourth grade. She couldn’t have been more than a few months old, but had been house-trained and apparently abandoned by whatever household she was born into. After knocking on neighbors’ doors and posting dozens of signs, my mom eventually allowed me to keep the cat. She even agreed to take care of Tiger after I moved out of the house and has diligently kept up with an ever-expanding array of feline medication. Suffice to say, I will miss Tiger terribly. It will be difficult to leave the house tomorrow and drive to my mom’s to pick her up. It will feel like dragging a row of heavy objects on a chain shackled to my foot.


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