Conjugating

Just past the Bank of America
and the Ski shop (odd in Phoenix)
there's a place that kills pets
and charges you thousands of dollars to do it

They won't kill your pet right away.
First they'll do what they can
Exams
X-rays
Even clipping your cat's nails
because she hates having that done
but now that's she's half dead
she can tolerate it.

You drove her there
in rush hour traffic
crying the whole way
Why did you stay after school to grade papers?
Why did you stop at Safeway after that?
By the time you got home from your 12-hour day
almost every inch of your floors is covered in dried vomit and shit
and your cat, the cat you adored as much as a child (don't fight me on this...don't you dare)
is cowering under the furthest corner of the bed
Almost lifeless
but breathing
Thank God.
Still breathing.

After the intake
you met the veterinarian
Who's about 14 years old.
You convince yourself that she must be good.
She has to be.

After two harrowing hours
the X-ray results come back

"There's no obstruction"
the vet says
Yay! No obstruction!
But...
Oh, fuck. Please don't ruin my life...
There is a rupture in her intestine
That's why you came home to what you did on the floor
and it looks like cancer
Plus
(Oh shit)
She has a collapsed lobe in her lung

She could have surgery
Best outcome?
The intestine could mend
but the cancer will likely spread
and with the way she hates being handled (by anyone other than me)
she would hate spending a week or more in the hospital
and 14 1/2 is a very geriatric cat
and no, no you didn't do anything wrong
these things happen...

The juvenile vet
looks a few years older when she answers what she would do if it were her cat
I'd consider her quality of life.
So you're saying I'm not taking her home??
My eyes are wide in horror.
She nods.
I convulse in tears.

Today, eight days later
I drive past the Bank of America
and the ski shop
to pick up my cremated cat's paw print.

On the drive there
I tell myself I'm strong
I can even find some joy in the Beastie Boys song on the radio!
And for whatever reason,
I've rehearsed what I'm going to say when I walk in
"Hi, I'm here to pick up my dead cat's paw print."
For some reason I want to manifest my pain
and my fuck you feeling toward life
by including the word dead
It will make me feel tough
Yeah, tough.

I walk in the door
and when greeted
I'm immediately overcome with tears
"I'm...I'm..."
Take your time the kind vet tech says.
"I'm...here to pick up my cat's paw print."
My voice has become tiny,  
but she understands.

What's your baby's name?
Not what was your baby's name
I love her for not conjugating my cat to past tense
Somehow the difference is real.

Her name...is Annabelle
Each word has a sob between it
A tissue box is pushed my way.

Her name is Annabelle.

And it always will be.