When Nikki first came into my life; I didn't want her; didn't need something or someone to take care of. I just moved into my own apartment for the first time. I was free from my parents; free from the past that I ran from. Now here I was with this little person who needed me to take care of them and I wasn’t sure I could take care of myself.
When I first met Nikki there was a promise that she would only stay two-three days the most. One week later she was gone. I felt sad. I got use to coming home from work; Nikki sitting on the floor, staring at me; all green eyes and black hair. Then with a twist of fate I got to keep her. How could I not take her? Her family dumped her, just like mine.
As the years rolled on boyfriends, friends all faded from my life. Still Nikki was by my side, talking and acting like a dog. Now I sit in the waiting room; her hair and feces still on my shirt. I want to cry, sob like some soap opera actress does after she finds out her young lover is cheating. I hold it in, my Ex boyfriend, who has only known Nikki for over a year cries openly as he sits in his plastic ugly chair.
We say our good byes; Nikki stares blankly, paws trying to wiggle; alive but the brain will not let it happen. She’s had a stroke; it makes me think of how horrible it must feel for her; eyes open, seeing the world and your limbs, useless, dead, silence.
I want to bundle her up and take her home, but I can't. The doctor could be wrong. She is dying. I can't leave the room and leave her here. I know I have to because she is suffering. I can hear the nurses laughing in the hallway as sounds come out of me like pouring rain; how dare they laugh; live, when my child is leaving me forever.
A couple of weeks before this I bought Nikki her own bed. A rather soft and gaudy leopard colored thing. Man, it looked pretty gay. Friends told me she wouldn't lay in it but Nikki loved her gay bed; spent most of the last month in it. When I found her, she was laying in it. I spoiled her to the end and she died in gay fluffy style, and not a cold floor.
Saying goodbye to someone is hard. Only if you had one more day to tell them how much you loved them, you would. The second worst thing after someone dies is; their stuff. How can you throw away their things, like they were nothing? If you’ve never loved and been loved by a cat or dog I feel bad for you; animals can fulfill your heart and mind in ways you’d never imagine.
Yes, I took care of her; talked to her; bathed her; and loved her unconditionally; now I realize she did the same for me.
