LOGIC

I walk through the kitchen into the dining room on the way to my bedroom and see Logic sitting on one of the pillows in the dining room, the red velvet pillow. Logic is the firstborn son of my cat Gizmo. He was the first to open his eyes and the first to walk, and the first to explore the house beyond the living room. It is Sunday and the kittens are chasing one another all over the house while Gizmo does her mother cat duties and Miako perches herself on the edge of the couch or recliner to watch the fracas, and be generally mal-tempered.

Logic is the only kitten not racing about. I lean over and pick him up. As I do so, I notice that he has his soiled himself, and it is stuck to his tail and hind legs. Thinking that I caught him in mid-movement I carry him back to the makeshift litter box I have made for the kittens from a paint-rolling pan and deposit him there. He sits there for a while, but doesn’t really do anything but look around. I pick him up and look to see if there is some problem...but I can’t tell. I remove the cigar shaped stool samples from his fur, but they are stuck to him pretty good and don’t pull off without taking strands of hair with them. I set him on the chair. I go into the kitchen to wash my hands and return to examine him better. I pick him up. He is much lighter than he should be, much skinnier. I run my finger along his spine, I can feel each vertebrae protruding. I can feel individual rib bones. I look at the other kittens charging in and out of the room playing hunter/prey or whatever game kittens play. They are getting big, and round. I look back at the kitten in my hand. He looks small and malnourished. I don’t consider why he has stopped eating, and only vaguely think he might be sick, “Maybe he’s just not eating.” When the other kittens are nursing I put Logic near them, but he does not eat. I think to myself “hmmm” but soon am distracted by something else in my life that needs attention, pushing him aside in my mind for something more important. I go to sleep, worrying about work, and school, and money.

In the morning, after I shower, dress, and find my keys and wallet, I say goodbye to the cats and the kittens. Logic’s right eye has some crud on it. The same kind of crud that TC and Char’s kittens had before they died. This makes me more concerned. I tell everyone goodbye and lock the door behind me. During the day my boss’ wife calls me to ask about the kittens. I tell her about the eye gunk Logic has, and she suggests that he may have an upper respiratory virus, recommending I take him to the vet at PetSmart. They may have some medicine that I can get for him there. I make a note of it and decide whether I really want to start spending money on this kitten.

I return to the house and find Logic’s eye has crusted shut. I open his eye and rub most of the crud away, deciding then that I should take this kitten to get help. I change my clothes and pick him up, holding him close and petting his small head. I carry him to the truck, set him on the seat and drive to the PetSmart store. I go to the cat aisles first to see if anyone is around to help. There is not. I see that there is a veterinary office on the other side of the store...it looks closed. It is. A lady is stocking something on a shelf nearby; I ask her if she works here. Yes. I explain my situation, but she says that she does not have any medicine that I can buy for my kitten, that I should take him to the vet. I decide to take Logic to the vet as soon as I can. I head to the Cat aisle to buy kitten chow, litter, and a new scratch toy, as one of the old ones had worn out. I take my items to the cashier who notices my kitten. I set the kitten on the scanner counter and tell her he is sick, and won’t eat. She picks him up and falls in love with him. She closes her register and leads me back to the cat area to buy some formula and a bottle as well as tubes of gel that are supposed to help keep him hydrated. “You need to feed him every two hours,” she tells me, ”It’s just like taking care of a baby.”
“I’ve never taken care of a baby, should I just set my alarm?”
“Yes”
She gives me more instructions on what I should do, and leads the way back to the register. She tells me that she is four months pregnant. I tell her congratulations. Logic is perched on her shoulder or in her arms the whole time. She scans my items; she wears no ring. I offer Logic to her, but she can’t take him. I didn’t really expect her too take him. I didn’t really want her to take him. We ride back home.

Logic is hungry and takes quite a bit of the formula. He manages to get formula all over himself and me. When he is finished I set him on the floor. Gizmo and a kitten come and lick him clean, which looks sweet, but is more about food than love. I try to give him the tube of gel. He doesn’t want it and makes it hard for me to open his mouth. I manage to get him to swallow most of the tube, but he doesn’t like it. I feel bad for him and relent. I set him on my lap and pet him, hoping he will feel better about the abuse. Later I feed him again, but he does not want much, only a couple swallows and he is done. I set him with his brother and sisters and go to bed.

Tuesday morning I feed him, hoping he will eat a lot as I will be gone most of the day, he does not eat much at all. I say goodbye to Miako and Gizmo and to him and lock the door behind me. I find myself close to my house around five o’clock so I stop in to feed him, thinking he is going to be starving, he is not. Again he eats only a little. I leave again... Home again I have to hunt for Logic, as he is not in plain sight. I find him on the blanket beside the couch. I pick him up and pet him, he is warm, and furry, and moves gently in my hands. I set him down to prepare his bottle. I feed him; he drinks slightly more than at breakfast. I set him down on the floor and lay beside him. He lies on his side, staring at what must be to him, my massive head, and I at his tiny one. He looks at my eyes and I his. I see he is tired, and maybe he is sad. “Hang in there on more day,” I say to him, “I can take you to the vet on Thursday after work. So you just live ok?” I keep talking to him; he just keeps looking at me. He gets up and walk off underneath the recliner, I tell him, “Yeah, you just go rest.” I leave him be until it get to be late. I try to feed him again before I retire, but he does not eat. I go to bed.

I awaken early and feed him, he eats a little. I say goodbye to him and lock the door behind me. When I return home he is dead. He is laying in front of the old brown couch as if he were resting, but he is stiff, and his body is cool, and the light of life is gone from his eyes. There is a puddle of what could be urine and blood near the front door, but I don’t care really what it is. I clean it up with paper towels and all-purpose cleaner. I pick him up. He is clean, and dry, and there is nothing leaking from him. I hold him. I tell him that I am sorry. I pet his little head, he still feels like he did when he was alive. I carry him into the backyard. The tears begin to form in my eyes. I set him down gently near the roses and the crepe myrtles on the brick strip that creates a border between my grass and planters. I walk to the shed to get my shovel and the tears begin to flow as I dig a small kitten grave. I dig about sixteen inches down, tears rolling slowly down my cheeks, falling on my hands, the shovel, the ground. I put his little body in the hole between the crepe myrtles and tell him that I am sorry that I didn’t get him help in time, sorry that he didn’t live. I tell him goodbye and fill in the dirt. I wipe the tears from my face to let new ones take their place. I look at the newly displaced dirt for a while. I turn and walk back to the house.