Night and Day

Chapter 16: Delilah

I trailed my fingers over Bonbon's soft flank, marveling at how soft she was still. Despite the rapid deterioration of her health, the cat continued to retain her fur's luster. Each warm patch of hair was like silk to my eager fingers and, though there were mats popping up here and there, the old cat managed to keep herself well groomed. She purred, now, as I pet her; she was lying on top of my house coat, a friendly form, with a little glass bowl beside her. She ate little, if at all, but she was able to keep water down, and even Rupert seemed to sense that she should not be disturbed.

Looking at her, I felt the compulsion to cry. Every day was one to be feared-with each arrival home from school, I dreaded what I might find. I pictured her lifeless, her head too heavy in death, her eyes glazed over, and found that I could not. Aged Bonbon was simply too full of life for that; a world without the beloved creature was inconceivable.

Within the other room, Snake was softly asleep. I had never known that one to rest, given that she was Bonbon's polar opposite. Where Bonbon remained sedentary, lazing about just as she always had, Snake was the physical embodiment of a rocket. More akin to Rupert than her fellow feline, she could not sit still. Therefore, her dozing at all was uncharacteristic; it was rare for me to catch her in her rare moment of slumber. Rupert, too, was still wild...but time was progressively pushing him to become more like Bonbon. He was becoming lazy.

Despite myself, I found that it could not be helped; running my hand along Bonbon's prominent spine, I began to sob. Nothing tragic had happened yet, but the cloud that had been hanging over my head for the past couple weeks began to offer rain. It had grown bloated, this storm, and could no longer be contained. The rain fell, wetting Bonbon's fur, and I proceeded with the queer feeling that this was all a dream.

Sorrow is such that it must make friends. Misery enjoys company and, in the wake of Bonbon's condition, I began to think of other things. I started to picture my grandparents, and I thought then of what the next ten years could hold. For every day of my life, I had pretended (like the child I was) that death was a myth. I had read of it in books, and treated it in the way that I might any other fairytale. It was not real to me-though I had watched the last gasp escape my old dog, a great bumbling hound, I had treated the memory as a dream. Some part of me yet simply imagined that the old rascal was elsewhere, even as common sense told me that he was gone.

My granny and grandpa were healthy, but such could not be said of my grandparents on my dad's side.

A hideous turn of events had left my grandfather hooked up to a machine, an oxygen tank that he was required to peddle with him everywhere that he went. No breath was voluntary, and the machine forced each one into his mouth, even as he was speaking to you. He, however, was not the one I was most concerned about-while he continued to grin and struggle through his changed life, my grandmother did nothing, preferring instead to trust to nature. By all appearances, she was the healthier one...but the cancer that grew within her was no fairytale, concealed as it was to the naked eye.

I was visiting them this weekend. The weather had vastly improved, the blue sky daring to play peek-a-boo, and I was anxious to see them. With the sun shimmering down through the branches, I knew that there would be many opportunities to take pictures; my grandma loved photography. There would also be occasions to breathe, and enjoy life. Walking through the green woods, we could simply be content to wander past it all. The little river by her house would burble, an old friend, and the birds would usher in a new season-that which was built upon growth and new beginnings. Spring was returning like one long forgotten, and the long winter was ending. Between the grey clouds there would be that first ray of hope.

I was frightened, of course, of leaving Bonbon behind. Much could happen in a few days and visions of returning to an empty house coat by the stairs haunted me. Yet, if I did not go now, there was every chance that I would never go at all. Grandma needed me as surly as Bonbon did. How I cursed disease, then, and that rather wretched month that seemed to spread it all, a plague. Even the average person was ill; each and every person I knew had been stricken by some terrible flu. Events were piling up like dung, and the stress was almost tangible. While people coughed, or threatened to die, the month marched on, true to its name; it was all an utter mess.