Lefty. With paws that look like Uggs. And a manscaped belly.

Leaving

My beloved cat was just diagnosed with lymphoma, my teeth are in terrible pain, and I’m in the middle of disassembling my apartment for an epic move to Manhattan this week. I am not in a good state. And by that, I don’t mean New Jersey.

Lefty stopped being Lefty gradually at first, then, suddenly. The ravenous, rambunctious creature stopped eating and drinking a few weeks ago. Lynn and I took him to the vet last weekend and it was a horrible experience for the three of us.

We needed something to transport Lefty, and the crate I had for him from his kitten days probably couldn’t even contain his rather large butt today. We went to PetSmart and bought a “Kennel Cab” suitable for intermediate-sized dogs. Turned out to be perfect for Lefty. We brought it home and wasted no time in putting it to use. Lefty even seemed to enjoy its cozy comfort.

Lefty was sort of himself again in the vet’s office by being relentlessly uncooperative, and he didn’t exactly endear himself to the pros trying to diagnose him. As they wrestled him down to get a blood sample, he fought as if his very life depended upon it. The wailing sounds and screams that came out of his tiny mouth and the wide-eyed look he shot me of of betrayal, confusion, and pain broke my heart.

He was in the throws of pure terror. I was not privy to give him comfort.

The vet left to test his blood. While she was gone, Lynn and I were left with Lefty and calmed him down. The poor guy was absolutely traumatized. Lynn’s maternal instinct kicked in and she fetched him some water. He drank it like he’d been wandering doomed deserts for days.

After about 45 minutes, the vet came back with the tentative diagnosis. The blood work, combined with his symptoms meant kidney disease with a likelihood of cancer.

I had already lost it while he was wailing, but managed to hold it back to my best ability. Hearing this news put me over the edge. I know it sounds weird, and I knew this day would come, but mortality isn’t part of the daily sentience of affection between a man and his cat.

The thought of losing him is unbearable.

Further tests were needed to confirm the diagnosis. It required that I leave him overnight in a strange place with sick animals—and without the comfort of my lap for him to lie in. I left the vet in a zombie-like state, with a touch of desperate despondence.

I took home an empty Kennel Cab. And not to get maudlin here, but a heavy heart as well.