DISCLAIMER:
An animal dies in this story. Kind of a plot ruiner, but that's a trigger for some folks. If you are one of those folks, probably don't read this story. Also, it's bittersweetly sad. Maybe don't read this if you're having a bad brain day.
June 4th
Hug Your Cat Day
Remembering that day hurts worse than anything I could ever say to another human being.
When someone dies, there's no way to explain how time moves without betraying how it feels. It is a day that feels like it never ends because of the pain that pulses in your bones for days that turn into the weeks and weeks that add up to months, those months twisting into years. The pain continues on and on until you've been in pain for centuries – literally centuries for me. And yet…
It goes by so quickly. They are alive at this moment, for this breath, and then you blink and now they're dead. You're staring at them and they look the same in your arms, but they've already had their last breath. They're already gone. The next time you blink, they're dead. It doesn't take but a few seconds.
Death takes forever and no time at all simultaneously.
I keep filling the void with hobbies. When I was younger, back in the "Medieval" era, as that time of my life has come to be known as, I channeled all of my energy into my magic and people with magic. As magic bloodlines died and my age started to limit my abilities, I had to find something new. I often thought of cooking as being very similar to potion brewing, so I gravitated naturally in that direction.
When my physical deterioration continued to limit what I can and cannot do with myself, I learned to use technology and started telling stories. I wanted to share them with others, so I make podcasts now and thousands of people listen to the stories I tell about modern versions of the two biggest heroes I have ever known:
Arthur Pendragon and his companion, Emrys.
I, of course, am Emrys. To most people today, I'm just Grandpa Merlin.
Grandpa Merlin and his scraggly black cat with three legs and different color eyes; an oddball social reject amongst his kind, but as lovable and compassionate as any cat could be. I've caught him sneaking his food scraps to the backyard where strays will later come and enjoy them instead. Is it even possible for a cat to be that aware?
I didn't name him at first, because I hadn't intended to keep him. I found him in the dumpster where I started playing BINGO. He looked very broken and hopeless, but he was trying. He wanted to take care of himself and fought me when I climbed on a chair to scoop him out. In the end, though, he followed me to the cab.
A few weeks to heal turned into a few weeks so that he could get checked out by a veterinarian; weeks became months without my ever noticing because I decided he deserved to have a prosthetic. By then I knew I was going to keep him but I couldn't admit it out loud, but I had to tell someone. The receptionist needed a name for my cat – my cat.
"Arthur," I had said, naming him after the very man I keep waiting to find again.
Today is something of a heavy day, really, because it is the day I lost Arthur all those years ago. It's also, according to my Twitter followers, "Hug Your Cat" day, which is incredibly fitting. The one person I cannot hug is the namesake of the only thing left in the world that I love – my cat.
Carefully, I shuffle into the next room to see if my furry friend is lying in his ratty bed by the backdoor. He spends many of his days there since I spent many of mine in the recliner telling story after story into a tiny microphone. We're content this way, I supposed, being limited in the ways that we are, but I so look forward to the sound of his wheel swinging across the floor when he turns corners from the kitchen and hallway.
I think he is sleeping when I get to his side but I've come quite a ways to see him, and it'll have been a waste if I don't hug him, won't it? It takes a lot of effort but I bend over and pick him up for a hug. When I straighten myself up to nuzzle my face against his rough fur, I think that his weight feels different in my arms.
There's only one thing that this could mean, but I ignore it until I can make it back to my chair. I want to say I didn't think about this day and that I thought my time with this new Arthur would be endless, but I'm no fool. Watching so many people die for as long as I have means that one of the only things I'm aware of is the inevitable death that stalks every single living thing.
An inevitable death that follows me…
If only, this once, it could take me too.