Before the full implications of what Hazel had said could register in Rene Descartes' mind, all he could think was, Of course. It makes perfect sense.
The Smell was the cancer, it was clear. He'd had the vaguest sense of having scented it before, and now he knew why. One of the other cats that had made a short stay at the Pound had smelled of it as well. Rene Descartes had heard one of the white-coated humans call it cancer before they carried the cat away, never to be seen again.
That was when Rene Descartes realized what Hazel had just said. She was dying. His first real keeper, and one who understood his intelligence as well, was dying. The Smell filled Rene Descartes' nose, threatening to choke him. He had only just met her, but already he felt attached in the way only cats and their keepers could.
"I guess I should tell you what's wrong with me," Hazel said, her voice surprisingly stable for the water gathering in the corners of her eyes.
They are known to humans as tears, are they not? Only shed in times of great elation or despair. I suppose in this instance, it could only be the latter. Rene Descartes didn't answer his keeper aloud, however, only looking up at her with round amber eyes. He hoped they conveyed the pain he felt for her, and to some degree, himself.
"There are all kinds of cancer, Des," Hazel explained. "How can I put this in terms you'll understand... My kind of cancer makes my lungs very, very weak. That's why I need this." She tapped the silver cylinder with her short, blunt claws, making the shiny object ring ever so slightly. "It gives me extra oxygen so that I can breathe. At night, though, I use my dragon so as to save on the oxygen tanks I carry around all day."
"I do not understand the imminent threat here," Rene Descartes replied. "So long as you keep your extra air, you are fine, yes?"
"If that was the only problem, excluding cancer's tendency to get worse over time, I would be alright. The fairly recent trouble is that my lungs have started filling up with water."
"Water?"
"Well, not quite water. It's a dark kind of thing that I don't remember the name of, but it's very bad to have anything like that in your lungs. The oxygen tank doesn't help with that. Every so often-and increasingly so-I have to go to the hospital to have it drained. That's always quite the ordeal."
Rene Descartes frowned.
"Elegant terms aside, I don't have too much time left." Her voice began to waver, and she picked up her cat to cradle him by her chest. "And I was just beginning to enjoy this miserable existence, too."
"I won't go anywhere, Hazel." Rene Descartes mewled, determined. "I will fight your cancer away, just you wait."
Hazel only hugged him tighter.