I closed the door to my bedroom, letting it all out. The tears and screams I had held in all day had erupted within me. "She isn't dying! This isn't real! God no, please no!" I repeated over and over, burying my head in the pillow that Isabella slept on. Her grey fur was still covering it, making more tears fall out. My brother must have heard my shrieks of sorrow, so he came into my room and put his arm around me. He listened to me cry, and no words were said. I kept torturing myself by looking at old pictures of Isabella, my dying cat. She was currently at the emergency vet clinic, hanging on to life with a very slim chance of living. Her sickness had come out of nowhere. The other night, she was playing with her cat toy like a little kitten.
My mother came home from work with a very sorrowful look on her face. "Honey, I didn't want to tell you over the phone, but the doctor called and we have to put Isabella to sleep. I'm so sorry," she said quietly, watching me as I continued my sobbing. "No," I denied her. "This can't be happening." I had held on to that slim chance of Isabella's survival, making myself eventually believe she would come home to me. "Annie, she is in too much pain. We're being selfish by keeping her alive. The doctor said her body is ballooning up from all the urine that isn't passing through her kidneys. There isn't a way to save her. We have to say goodbye tonight," Mom said, shooting a dagger through my heart. "The most precious thing in my life has just been ripped away from me," I cried, embracing my family, who know how much I adored Isabella, or "Iza."
After a few more minutes of getting out my tears and letting it sink in, we got ready to say goodbye. "Wait," I said, noticing Iza's favorite white blanket that sat upon a chair in our living room. "Iza should go to sleep on her favorite blanket." It was covered with her grey hair, and that sent a rush of more tears down my face. In the car, I said, "Iza's going to be dead. Dead. Gone." The word "dead" freaked me out, when Iza was the liveliest cat that walked the earth.
At the clinic, we were sent back to a dark, cold room. I set Iza's blanket on the metal table, so she wouldn't have to be cold when she died. The doctor brought her in, her limp, unrecognizable body. Her skin was purple from all the urine that couldn't get out. Her eyes explained it all. The pain inside of her was hard to watch. It felt so good to stroke her soft fur again, to kiss my favorite spot by her ears, and to feel her rumbling purr. She knew I was there. We had a relationship like no other. "I've never seen a cat love someone so much," my mom would always say. I got Iza when I was four. She had loved me even when I put her in silly costumes, or put her in my baby carriage and walked around. As I grew up and times changed, she was always there.
When my parents got a divorce, she was there to dry my tears. When I moved to a new city and had no friends, she was my friend. I went to bed with her every night, and this new challenge I would have to face alone, without my best friend. Her illness was such a shock because I had expected her to live a full eighteen years, not just nine. She deserved so much more time, or maybe I was being selfish. God wanted her, for she was the sweetest cat a girl could ask for.
We stroked her and loved on her for an hour. I sobbed the entire time, telling Iza what all I would miss. "Every morning, I would wake up to your face. I would get out of the shower and walk down the hallway, where you waited for me to come out. I would eat breakfast with you, making extra time to hug and kiss you. You sat on your blanket, and I sat on the chair. Then I would come home, and you would be waiting for me on your blanket. At dinner, I would sneak you maybe one or two bites. When it was time for homework, you sat right next to me and purred. Every night before bed, I would slant my pillow down to make room for you. You would rightfully take your place, and we snuggled all the night through. Then the same thing happened every day," I said to her in between tears.
I kept telling Iza how much I loved her, and I still do. The doctor eventually came in, and I knew it was time to release Iza to Heaven. I held her paw the entire time she died, the paw that had wiped my tears and held me in my darkest of times. The doctor sedated her, and she just relaxed a little. Her eyes drooped, tired. "This shot is the one that shuts down the brain," the doctor said. "Are you ready?" I nodded, letting out my tears. I wanted to be the last thing Iza saw before her spirit was released to Heaven. The doctor shot a pink fluid inside of Iza, and her breathing slowed. I still held her paw. That moment lasted a lifetime, and everyone could feel Iza's loving, caring spirit leave the room. All that remained was her spirit's shell, the life gone out of her eyes. Those eyes had always looked at me with such love and admiration, and now they were hollow.
"I need to get out of here," I said, holding my mouth at the sight of Iza's body. She was gone. "Annie, think of how much pain she was in. She's so thankful that we let her go," Mom said, adding, "That isn't her. She is in Heaven. That is not her." Iza's warm body was lifeless. "Do you want her collar?" my brother asked. I nodded. He slipped her pink, diamond-studded collar off of her neck, and I held it. It smelled of her. It had some of her fur in it. We took the blanket home, too.
I had cried so much that day that no more tears would come out. The sunset was beautiful that evening. The rays of the sun reached down, looking like the fingers of God, taking Iza's spirit to a better place. Our only other cat knew that Iza was gone. He ran around, meowing sadly. We had two litter boxes, but only needed one. We had two bowls of food, but only needed one. I still set down my pillow every night in case she comes back. Even though I now face the loneliest of nights and mornings, a house with not one but two cats, I still try to remember that I will see Iza again at the Rainbow Bridge. She was an angel here on earth, but she will be an even bigger one in Heaven. I'm sure all of her pain is gone, and she's playing like she did when she was young and whole. I will love her forever.