Life, Death, and the Doctor of the Hour

The day started in a way I had hoped would be 10 years from now.

At around 2 am, Jerry crawled into bed and asked me if I was awake. I was. He then said, "Argyle died."

How could this be? Our youngest, most exuberant, trouble-making cat. The one who probably thought his name was "Argyle No!"

When Jerry has trouble sleeping he goes into the TV room, stretches out on the couch, and reads himself back to sleep. Inevitably, one, or more, cats join him.

Argyle did join him, but something was very wrong. His hind legs and tail were paralyzed. He likely had a stroke. Jerry stayed with him, and it was not long before he passed away.

When Jerry came back to bed we held each other as Jerry sobbed. We both then went back to the TV room so I could say goodbye to my boy. We went back to bed, held each other and cried.

We did fall back asleep for a little while, and I dreamed that Argyle had not died. That it was all a mistake. It was, of course, just a dream.

In the morning I called our vet's office and asked if they could make arrangements for cremation. They told us to bring him in when it was convenient.

Most of my friends, if they hadn't met him, have heard Argyle stories. There are baby locks on everything because there is not a drawer or cupboard he couldn't open. I always said if he had thumbs he could build furniture. He was huge-- 20 pounds-- but incredibly agile. I had his DNA done and he had a lot of Maine Coon and Savannah. Along with your everyday tabby.

He got his name because he was rounded up for neutering on Argyle Avenue, along with 16 other cats. On release day all the kitties ran to their happy places except one. So he came home with me.

Argyle loved us, but he was not always fond of company. He expressed that in different ways. He would "act out" by threatening to knock ceramic pieces off of shelves in the living room. Or he would hide. His favorite place was a particular cupboard in the kitchen. He would open it, get in, and shut the door behind him. He'd only come out after the last guest had left.

And while there was no question he loved me, he was really Jerry's boy. If Jerry was in his office, Argyle was with him, sitting on the computer keyboard. In Jerry's lab up on the fifth floor, there is a space cleared on the table so Argyle could watch him work.

It hit both of us hard, but Jerry was devastated.

We needed to leave the house at nine because I had an appointment with a vascular physician. We left Argyle in his bed and brought him along.

The waiting room at the cardiac and vascular offices was packed, but surprisingly we were called into the doctor's office right on time.

We sat down. Well, I was already sitting down, as I am most of the time, and the physician started going through my medical history and discussed my pulmonary embolism. She was incredibly thorough, citing studies relating to the medication I was taking, but went beyond that, she noticed that my cholesterol, thyroid level and vitamin d had not been checked in some time. So she scheduled bloodwork. She went over everything in my chart. She then scheduled an ekg to be done while I was there, and an echocardiagram for a couple of weeks down the road. Altogether, she spent more than an hour with me.

To say Jerry and I were impressed does not do it justice. I wanted her to be my doctor of everything.

We headed back to the car to our next stop, the vet's office. Dr. Z had seen Argyle just a few weeks ago and everything was fine. Argyle was his usual feisty self, and the vet and tech couldn't get over how handsome he was. He seemed incredulous we were back to have our boy cremated. We talked for a few minutes about what might have happened, and then he gently carried our boy away with him.

We had one more appointment for the day, and this was to have a cast made of my residual leg so a gel liner could be custom made for the prosthetic socket, which would also need to be custom made. Another day I might have been pretty excited about this step toward getting a prosthesis, but today I was just grateful that it took up time to keep me a little preoccupied by something other than Argyle.

When we got home, the cold I had been dealing with did not seem to be getting any better, and since I had a massage scheduled for the next day I thought I should take a Covid test.

Because life couldn't suck more, of course, the test was positive. I've been wearing a mask eveywhere I went the last few days so I doubt I spread it. But if anyone could win a prize for the shittiest day ever, I'd surely be in the running.

Jerry and I had high hopes for 2023. Last week I had an appointment with my oncologist, and I'm coming up on five years cancer free. I hope to be walking this year, and we took our first trip and are dreaming about more.

And then today happened. People who have never shared their love with a dog or cat might not get it. But Argyle meant everything to us. And he was the youngest of our four cats. He was the one I thought had the possibility of outliving me. Or at least being around for years to come. I know time will ease some of this pain and we will be able to see a photo of him or think about him without tearing up.

Tonight, when I go to sleep, maybe, if I'm lucky, I will dream about him again.