Five years

Five years

January 9, 2016. It had been five years. Five fucking years. Mark couldn’t believe it. He closed his planner, and stared at his computer screen. Numbers, numbers, numbers. Graphs, graphs, graphs. Every day, the same thing, his life one monotonous cycle. None of it mattered. He could bring home $500 or $5,000 a week, and nothing would change the past five years.

Meowy was a cat. Yes, a cat. A little black furball, with three white spots: one across his nose, one two-thirds down the top of his back, and one just above the tip of his tail. Those spots had always wowed him; they were just so random, so strange. He still never really knew why he named him Meowy – he just kind of said it, and it stuck.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: a 49 year old (well, then he was 44) dude with a cat. But, Meowy was Mark’s world; he woke up to him every morning, chatted with him after work, and fell asleep by his side each evening.

Mark had gotten Meowy the year he finished his MBA. He knew success awaited him (he had graduated #1 in his class), knew his keen business sense would get him far; sadly, though, he had no one to share his success with. So, one sunny Saturday afternoon, at the ripe age of 24, he went down to the local pet shelter.

A staff member at the pet shelter welcomed him with open arms. She gave him a tour of the place, explained how they cared for the animals, and how important pet adoption was, to “save the animals” and all. Mark half listened to what she was saying, while glaring around at the different dogs. Yes, you heard right, DOGS. Mark was so sure that with a cute little puppy he could score a hot babe to go along with his soon to be six-figure salary. His plan had been to grab a puppy, head right to the park at the end of his street, and show the little guy off. But out of the corner of his eye, on the other side of the room, a cage of kittens caught his attention. He walked over to it as the staff member continued to babble on about vaccinations and pet registration. “Sir” she said “sir, sir…” as she followed him over.

In the cage, he saw Meowy. He was wrestling with the other kittens in the box. Well, perhaps “wrestling” isn’t the best word; more like attacking. Mark noticed his three little white spots, and just knew that puppy love wasn’t in store for him. He told the staff member he had changed his mind about adopting a dog, and less than an hour later he left, a cardboard cat carrier carrying a noisy Meowy in his hand, and a smile across his face.

So, no, Meowy did not score Mark any babes. In fact, he likely scared many off; allergies, cat hair-covered apartment (pent house or not, no one likes to leave with fur-covered pants), and then those that were “weirded out” by a guy with a cat. But in Meowy, Mark found companionship, loyalty, love, and a 100% reliable snuggle buddy.

The years went on; Mark arrived at his six-figure salary, he climbed the company ladder, proved himself a successful business man. The women came and went; there were the one night stands, two engagements (both of which he broke off), a few other +1 year relationships, but nothing seemed to stick. The only thing consistent in his life was Meowy, there day in and day out, no matter what.

On January 7, 2011, Meowy wasn’t there at the door when Mark returned from work. “That’s strange,” thought Mark, as he hustled through his apartment calling out Meowy’s name, begging for him to come. Mark finally found Meowy, under the bed, a typical hiding spot. Meowy lay in a little ball, a darkness settled over him, an dreadful awareness of what was to come wrapped around his kitty essence.

Mark took Meowy to the vet the next morning: it was the big C. At age 20, this was anything but surprising, yet Mark could not help but feel that wind had been kicked out of him. He knew Meowy was mortal, that he would not be around forever, but he just didn’t think he could REALLY die. But yes, he could. Mark took Meowy home, his soft fur concealing his cancer-ridden insides. He was hoping to have a few more days with him, a few more feeding times, a few more nighttime snuggles.

The next morning, he realized that keeping Meowy alive was cruel; he couldn’t move, couldn’t eat, wasn’t drinking; he was already dead, apart from his short, silent breathes. So, Mark took Meowy to the vet, where he said his final goodbye. No tears were shed, nothing emotional like that. It was just goodbye, so long, see yah later. And that was that.

Now, Mark looked at his datebook, and remembered Meowy. His little buddy. His annoying fur-ball. He babe-repellent. He could not believe that five years had passed, but they most certainly had. Mark would be lying if he said that Meowy “made his life better” or “gave him meaning.” I mean, it was a cat for goodness sake. An annoying cat at that. But Meowy was always there, was something he could rely, something he could hold, feel, knew was real and true. His heart felt empty as he had these thoughts. He looked at his closed planner, looked up at the sun shining through the wall-sized window of his 21st floor office, and looked back at the computer screen, numbers filling his head.