Granny Reyna is Dying

The quality of service has decreased dramatically, ever since Granny Reyna moved into the guest room. Laurice used to wake up early in the morning to fix me my breakfast. This feeding would be followed by petting time on the table, me sprawling leisurely near her laptop, inhaling the rich, bitter scent of her coffee, as she stroked my fur worshipfully. It’s true that she was often distracted by the laptop, and I was forced to redirect her, but overall, she was a faithful servant.

Now our mornings are a clusterfuck of groggy stumbling and messy-kibble sloshing. Laurice wakes up early in the morning, but she also wakes up late at night, and in the middle of the night, and several other times besides, so as to attend to the many needs of Granny Reyna, who is clearly dying. 

Granny Reyna is hooked up to a number of sinister machines that beep and boop and smell of plastics and chemicals and sanitized fluids. She does not speak. She does not get out of bed. The aura of death surrounds her, a fuzzy cloud that thickens each day. Laurice goes into that room, and then comes out, and then goes in again, and then comes out again, and each time she comes out, she is a little sadder, a little more tired, and a little less focused on my needs.

Laurice looks like shit. Her hair is unwashed, and she has been in the same sweatpants for three days. She has not emptied my litter box in nearly as long, and the house is beginning to stink. 

Something must be done. Granny Reyna has to go. 

***

I decide that I need to meet Granny Reyna up close and personal. Perhaps we can come to an understanding. I know that she’s dying and unable to speak, but sometimes cats and humans can communicate, if the made-for-TV movies that Laurice sometimes watches are to be believed. I don’t know how it works, but it can’t hurt to try.

The door is cracked open, so it’s no problem for me to push my way inside. Laurice is busy working on her laptop, and though I would normally join her, this is likely my only chance to be alone with Granny, and so I forego my usual petting time. 

Granny smells of sickly-sweet rot. Her insides are already decaying; I can tell from ten feet away. Her breathing is a shallow rattle that shakes her bony chest. The machines hiss and whir and softly beep. Granny Reyna is not doing well.

I approach her bed and hop up onto it. Her legs are scrawny and still beneath a cool white sheet — all bones and uncomfortable lumps. The scent is overpowering now, but I persevere. I move close to her face, perching on her chest to get a better look at her. 

Her eyes remain closed. She does not acknowledge me in any way. I inch a little closer. I send out my thoughts, trying to mind-meld with her.

Granny Reyna, it’s me, Dulcie. I am the Cat of this house. Your presence here is unwelcome. I sympathize with your plight, but it’s time to move on.

“DULCIE!”

Laurice’s shout startles me, and I leap off the bed and onto the floor. 

“Bad Dulcie! NO!”

I skitter out of the room, not looking at Laurice, or Granny Reyna. I don’t know if Granny received my communication or not, but she remains in the guest room. Alive. Taking up all of Laurice’s time and energy. Pissing me off.

***

Laurice is talking to her friend Garland. Garland often comes over to spend time with Laurice. At first I didn’t like him. I saw him as an intruder in my home, an uninvited guest who often helped himself to my spot on the couch. But after a few years, I grew to accept him, mostly because he always leaves. 

“I’m just so tired,” she says.

“Why don’t you just send her back to the hospital? This is too much.”

“She doesn’t want to die in a hospital. She hates hospitals.”

“Well, no one likes hospitals. But it’s the best place for someone with her medical needs. You can’t keep doing this.”

“There’s no one else.”

“Well, can’t you get a nurse to come help?”

“Do you have any idea how much a nurse costs? I can’t afford that. And her insurance won’t cover it.”

“Laurice…you’re burning yourself out. I don’t think she would want you to do this much for her.”

“Like I said. There’s no one else. Besides…it’s probably not for too much longer.”

Garland hugs Laurice then, and she cries into his arms. 

***

Later, I sit on Laurice’s lap, and she pets me, just like she used to. She is watching something on the TV. Not a cat movie; something dull. 

“You’re a good kitty, Dulcie.”

Yes. I am a good kitty.

“What were you doing in Granny Reyna’s room? Hmm?”

She continues to pet me. 

“Were you trying to help her? Or were you trying to hurt her?”

I was trying to tell her to get out of my house. 

“Though at this point…is there really any difference?”

She is silent for a few minutes, petting me absently. Her mind is clearly elsewhere — maybe on the TV, maybe on me.

Suddenly, Laurice turns up the volume on the TV, louder than usual. She picks me up and carries me to Granny Reyna’s room. She sets me down on the soft brown carpet. 

“I love you,” she says, and I’m not sure if she means me or Granny, and I have no way of knowing because she is already gone, the door shut behind her. 

I am alone with Granny Reyna now. Her skin is a funny green color, and the rattle in her chest is loud as she exhales. Her mouth gapes open, and her cheeks are sunken in. I hop up onto the bed. I creep up on to her chest. I help.