For Boo

It had been a restless sleep the night prior, the same it had been for weeks. The silence that swallowed the bedroom had been far too loud, the sheets far too heavy, the air far too thick, and everything just felt far too wrong. Sleep had failed to settle into her bones that night, and it had led her into a foot dragging day.

Hours after struggling to lock her front door behind her, Marie arrived back home and once more struggled with the lock and key. A long apartment corridor flanked both sides of her. The hall’s air conditioner was working over time, and the groaning whine it gave warned that it might indeed be on its last leg; they’d been telling the landlord for weeks now that it was causing problems, but like all things, the man just waved them off and gave what was sure to be another broken promise that he’d come and fix it.

The lock had stuck, but after a forceful shove, her apartment door finally opened. Marie stepped inside, choosing to stand in the darkness for a moment before she flicked the lights on.

Inside her apartment, everything was the same as she’d left it – the same tiny kitchen with the dripping sink, the same table cluttered with random shit, the same stained couch, the same basket of dirty clothes she’d never gotten around to taking down to the wash, the same used and thrifted furnishings that honestly should have been thrown out the moment she brought them into her home. But still, the cluttered and beaten-up apartment was their – her – home.

As the deep hollow inside her festered, she found the familiar once comforting apartment to be rather unwelcoming. Her gaze caught sight of the large box in the corner, where the top of the scratching post could be seen. That sinking pit turned sour in her chest.

Dropping her keys on the side table and kicking off her shoes, Marie turned and went to the kitchen. The drip from the kitchen sink was the only sound as her sock padded feet never got more than a shuffle across the floor. Even the normal sounds of the busy town streets were muted beyond the curtained window.

It had been far too quiet for the last two weeks.

She was only half paying attention to her movements as she reached for a glass. The back of her hand nudged against a container. The sound of breaking glass broke the silence but for a moment. It took Marie a second after the sound left, to realize what she’d done.

Little green treats had been left scattered across the checkered floor.

The smell waffled into her nose with her next breath. She had always joked with him about how stinky his favorite snack was. He never minded her jests, happily inhaling the food from her hand with a purr rocking through his body. As she stood there, just inhaling the scent of the remaining treats, tears began to well in her eyes.

Marie had managed to keep that night out of her mind, but the memory slipped through anyway.

She had come home from her shift, and stood at the door for a good three minutes waiting for him to come greet her. He always did; no matter how deep he was slumbering, he’d hear the front door open and come trotting out to greet her. His little meow would sound like a roar through the small apartment as he came running to greet her. And in response, Marie would drop everything in her arms, pick up the little guy and nuzzle her face into his soft black fur.

Biscuit hadn’t come to her that night. Panic had settled within her, and Marie had quickly started searching his favorite places to sleep. It had only taken another minute for her to find him.

The memory of it brought Marie to her knees. Biscuit had been laying on the bed, his black furred body resting far too still on the floral-patterned quilt. At first, she’d just assumed that he was merely sleeping – he was an old man after all, he needed that rest. Whenever she’d said his name, clicking her tongue to get his attention and he hadn’t moved, the realization had hit her instantly.

He had still been warm. Marie had crawled onto the bed and cradled him to her chest. The last exhale of breath from his lungs had led her to the false belief that maybe – just fucking maybe – he might still be there with her. But there hadn’t been any life left in that last puff of air, just the body offering a false hope.

Breath was leaving her lungs now. Marie had dropped to the floor, her back pressed against the stained cabinets. Being closer to the mess, the scent of the cat treats was even stronger. She was struggling through the tears, as the memory of holding him that one last time continued to run through her mind.

He’d been so thin when he’d passed. Old age had taken all of the youth from his frame, but still, he’d been just so happy and lively that morning. He’d danced between her feet, giving her his continued argument that she should just get back into bed with him. He’d devoured his food and been making biscuits in his cat tree as she’d left.

She’d told him she loved him, given him a little kiss on the head, and didn’t give much thought to the deep rumbling purrs he always gave.

But Marie had been running late that morning also. She’d given him his breakfast as she shoveled her own into her mouth and had been snippy with him as he tried to herd her back to bed. She’d given him a little kiss as she left but hadn’t remembered to open the curtains so he could look outside and watch the falling snow. His favorite cat bed had been in the dirty clothes hamper that she’d forgotten to take to get washed. She had forgotten to give him his favorite treat as a bribe to behave.

She figured she’d see him again when she got home and had never considered otherwise. She should have stayed home that day, should have cuddled him longer that morning, should have known that something was off.

But he was gone, and even if she had done everything differently that day, he still would be gone. It was how it was. Even if she’d had that little man since the day he was born, even if she’d raised him for twelve years, even if they’d been together through the worst the world had thrown at them, there was only so long a cat was granted this world.

As the tears began to dry, Marie slowly rose to her feet. She stepped carefully around the glass and grabbed the broom. Even after sweeping the mess, the smell of cat treats still stayed in the air; she knew the smell would linger long around the apartment.

Her gaze went to the boxes in the corner. She’d taken his tree down a few days ago, finding the sight of it to be far too painful. It had been the only item in the apartment that had been bought new, and she hated the idea of throwing it out. But she hated the idea of it sitting there untouched even more.

A page on the table caught her eye. Her friend had given her the pamphlet a month or so prior, saying they needed volunteers for the program. She had considered taking part when asked, knowing Biscuit would have loved a companion, but hadn’t wanted to risk upsetting the landlord.

With the sound of the sink which had leaked for three months, and the air conditioner in the hallway giving another violent rattle, she decided the landlord and his opinions meant very little.

Grabbing her keys, Marie left the apartment.

“Come on now, you gotta stop.” The kitten was climbing the tree before she’d even finished rebuilding it. The tiny ball of orange cared very little for the personal space she’d asked for and was very determined to get to the top of the bright blue structure she was building. Marie gave a light laugh at its antics, picking the kitten up. She gave it a nuzzle before setting her back on the ground. The other ball of orange jumped his sister, rolling around happily the way kittens always did.

Marie had been unsure when animal services had asked her to foster the two kittens. It had been some time since she’d had cats that young, but she had gathered so many toys over the years that she’d been more than prepared to take them in. She knew it would hurt when the pair would inevitably be considered properly socialized and adopted out, but she knew that pain came with a pet either way.

Putting the last screw in the cat tree, the kittens were immediately climbing it. Marie stepped back, giving a real smile as they began to explore and play. Their little meows echoed through the small apartment.

A deeper meow came from behind her. Her friend had told her about this elderly cat that had resided in the shelter for longer than any other. He was a gorgeous cat, with long brown painted fur and eyes that shined with a lifelong lived. The moment Marie had spotted him, she knew that he was going to be staying with her permanently. He gave a deep bellow, and began to purr when Marie scratched behind his ears. “Ya, that’s a good scratch, isn't it.”

As she opened the box of cat treats, she found the smell to be just the same as always. It hit her nose, and she couldn’t help but reflect on the happy ball of black fur that had lived in this apartment just a month prior. Biscuit had loved these things more than any other food, and as the other three perked up at the scent, she found a warmth growing inside her.

Their cheerful little meows were louder than the dripping sink and the air conditioner that was in full protest in the hall. Marie ran her fingers through the cat’s fur as they enjoyed their snack. The kittens, Elmo and Oscar, went back to playing in the well-loved tree, while Berry, the elderly brown cat, curled up on her lap when she finally sat on the couch.

Her gaze went to the photo and urn that sat by the television. It had taken longer than she would have liked to have been given back his ashes, but Biscuit was home now. And as she smelled the lingering scent of cat treats on Berry’s breath, she thought of every good memory she’d had with her little man, and every memory that would come from the good life she could provide for these cats as well.