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The day Fox died, I suddenly realized the extent of innocence, purity and helplessness that an animal has.
Fox - with his pale blue eyes, glistening with his love for whoever he sat upon, his deep and instant purring - is someone I can never forget. His triangular Siamese face was a perfect sketch, with the blue sea of his eyes being the only off-colour. Someone had dipped their thumb in black paint and had smudged Fox’s nose, sliding the thumb all the way up to the middle of his head, where the velvety black colour faded into streaks upon the cream coloured fur. His ears were made out of thick, black velvet and on his paws, he wore furry dark boots. Inside was soft sawdust and a warm beating heart whose pace quickened whenever I held him and stared into his eyes.
Perhaps the most amusing thing he did was come in and go out as he pleased. It may not seem like a difficult task to read about but you should’ve seen him paw about at the crack of the doorway (from the outside) fix his claw, and pull with such a technique that the door would suddenly open a fraction of an inch. In that very instant, his expertise allowed him to easily wheedle his nose into the slight open space, and slide his neck in. The rest was easy. Wriggling his body he would eventually be inside. Of course all this only took about half a minute.
His nose would be employed once again, when he wanted to venture outside. Pushing the door with his nose, he’d stick his neck between the screen door and the doorway and wriggle himself outside.
When not going going out or coming in, (cats just cannot ever understand the concept of doors and why they exist), he would sit neatly on the back of a sofa, or on someone’s stomach, eyes closed in meditative peace, pondering about lunch or dinner.
Fox was also a dog.
When the car honked outside for the main gate to be opened, Fox knew. He therefore, rushed at top speed and used to sit near the garage, carefully maintaining a distance from those huge, rolling, black tyres and greet the newcomer. Even doorbells would alert him. A “Hello Fox!” type greeting would send his attention attracting meows to a purring silence, his eyes so full of infatuated love that they would hardly open.
He wasn’t all that mellow though. Sometimes a fierce jungle spirit would grab him and he would bring on a fit of unleashed enthusiasm in hunting. Once he managed to climb on top of the AC box from outside, and like a devouring reptile ate up all the pidgeon eggs there. He felt rather proud of himself as he came back down licking his chops.
And he insisted on sitting on you, whether you would be sitting, typing at the laptop, reading the newspaper, or even lying down. If you lay on your back he’d snooze on your stomach. If you changed position to lie on your side, he’d snuggle into your waist and fit himself there not the least bit perturbed at having his sleep spoilt. He’d follow you down to the washroom, and when you opened the door to get out, he’d be sitting there with his paws together, waiting for you.
But toothaches can kill.
Fox started to lose weight very rapidly and was no longer the tubby Buddha meditating in tranquil satisfaction. His head started to hang lower and lower and not all the folic acid in the world nor all the tooth extractions could stop that dreaded Gingivitis from spreading.
Now each time he sat, he looked as if he was moping. Mournful poetry could not have described him during the last three days.
He did not flick his ears when I called. He did not purr when I stroked him. He did not twitch his curled up rabbit tail in anticipation and he did not open his eyes wide.
He just sat there immobile, sad, weak, falling down sideways when I set him on the ground, and so weak that he could not even reach the chair when he tried to jump up on it.
Then the vet came with his kit bag full of assorted life savers, and tried to find the vein so he could line in some saline solution. And then all of a sudden I told him to stop. Fox, lying there like a baby, would never survive and I knew it. He was helpless, limp, completely dependant upon me. And I had made my decision.
So as the yellow chemical flowed into Fox, tears flowed down my face, and I rested my hand right on his tiny heart so that he knew it was okay, and that it would be alright, and that I loved him like always. So Fox went to sleep, one last time, a deep, comforting pain free slumber, and he lies in his bed made out of warm, scented earth, in the garden, right next to the chambeli tree.
But in my heart, he will always he awake and loving me and staring right into the eyes of his best friend.
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