with the wildly curly hair—who I’m pretty sure was a vet—was standing behind the counter with the receptionist when we came in. They were looking closely at a prescription bottle together. She looked up as I came through the door.
“Hey, you,” she said. Kind of brightly. “Guess whose cat just sat up and drank some water?”
Even if she hadn’t said anything at all, I knew just from the look on her face that I could stop bracing for the worst. I felt myself breathe—really breathe—for what felt like the first time in ages.
She said, “That’s one strong cat you’ve got there.”
I could feel myself smiling too widely.
I said, “Yeah. He’s probably just too stubborn and ornery to die.”
I got to bring Toto home a few days later. Friday. But there was a catch. He needed antibiotics twice a day. And I wasn’t sure I could handle giving that cat a pill.
Of course Frank volunteered to help.
Which was very nice of him. Obviously. And it was just that sort of niceness that I’d always liked in Frank. And the least I could do was be grateful. And I was. In one very real way, I was.But I had mixed feelings about having him knock on my door twice a day. And I felt like eighteen different kinds of garbage for not wanting to see him.
It’s not that I didn’t appreciate his help. And it’s not like I was judging him for his life choices. It’s more like … If I could just have more time to swallow things. Or maybe have things hit me in smaller pieces. I felt like life was always pushing too much down my throat too fast.
It was giving me serious indigestion.
He showed up for the first pill on Saturday morning. Not long before Wilbur was supposed to come over to get dressed and made up for our big photo shoot. He looked and sounded perkier than I felt.
“Pill time,” he said.
“Thanks.” I had Toto’s antibiotics in my hand. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”
“I don’t mind. I told you I didn’t mind.”
But I sort of minded. Having to do this twice a day. And unfortunately, we’d both heard that. In the way I’d said it.
Toto was hiding in a cardboard box in a big kennel cage. Frank and I had set it up that way, so we could always catch him to give him his pill. Frank had carried the big collapsible cage home from work on the subway. I’d put a soft towel in a cardboard carton and stuck the box in there on its side. It didn’t seem fair to not even give him someplace to hide. It was important to him, to hide.
I opened the cage and reached in and pulled the box out, and Frank got hold of the scruff of his neck. Then I held him down in the box by his shoulders and Frank gently opened his mouth and put the pill way back in his throat. Then we just sat there withhim for a minute, with Frank holding his mouth closed and stroking his throat downward until he swallowed.
Toto was a stubborn cat. It took him a long time to swallow.
Frank said, “We’re going to get past this, right?”
I felt a little stunned. I hadn’t known we were going to talk about “it.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Because I don’t want to see our friendship go anywhere.”
“Me neither,” I said.
And I meant it. I really felt it when I said it. Like I was just in a place of remembering how good it felt to be friends with Frank. And like all that other stuff was gone. But I knew better than to think it would stay gone forever. Or even much longer.
“If you ever have questions about—”
“No,” I said. Too fast and too loud. Cutting him off too rudely. I didn’t want to go into anything detailed. “No, it’s not about having questions. It’s not about not accepting you. It’s …”
Yeah. Good one, Elle. Finish that sentence.
“I know what it is,” he said.
Which had to be the most deeply uncomfortable and embarrassing thing anybody had ever said to me. Ever.
Thank God Toto finally swallowed.
“I’ll come back this afternoon,” Frank said.
I was so completely mortified that I
“Hey, you,” she said. Kind of brightly. “Guess whose cat just sat up and drank some water?”
Even if she hadn’t said anything at all, I knew just from the look on her face that I could stop bracing for the worst. I felt myself breathe—really breathe—for what felt like the first time in ages.
She said, “That’s one strong cat you’ve got there.”
I could feel myself smiling too widely.
I said, “Yeah. He’s probably just too stubborn and ornery to die.”
I got to bring Toto home a few days later. Friday. But there was a catch. He needed antibiotics twice a day. And I wasn’t sure I could handle giving that cat a pill.
Of course Frank volunteered to help.
Which was very nice of him. Obviously. And it was just that sort of niceness that I’d always liked in Frank. And the least I could do was be grateful. And I was. In one very real way, I was.But I had mixed feelings about having him knock on my door twice a day. And I felt like eighteen different kinds of garbage for not wanting to see him.
It’s not that I didn’t appreciate his help. And it’s not like I was judging him for his life choices. It’s more like … If I could just have more time to swallow things. Or maybe have things hit me in smaller pieces. I felt like life was always pushing too much down my throat too fast.
It was giving me serious indigestion.
He showed up for the first pill on Saturday morning. Not long before Wilbur was supposed to come over to get dressed and made up for our big photo shoot. He looked and sounded perkier than I felt.
“Pill time,” he said.
“Thanks.” I had Toto’s antibiotics in my hand. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”
“I don’t mind. I told you I didn’t mind.”
But I sort of minded. Having to do this twice a day. And unfortunately, we’d both heard that. In the way I’d said it.
Toto was hiding in a cardboard box in a big kennel cage. Frank and I had set it up that way, so we could always catch him to give him his pill. Frank had carried the big collapsible cage home from work on the subway. I’d put a soft towel in a cardboard carton and stuck the box in there on its side. It didn’t seem fair to not even give him someplace to hide. It was important to him, to hide.
I opened the cage and reached in and pulled the box out, and Frank got hold of the scruff of his neck. Then I held him down in the box by his shoulders and Frank gently opened his mouth and put the pill way back in his throat. Then we just sat there withhim for a minute, with Frank holding his mouth closed and stroking his throat downward until he swallowed.
Toto was a stubborn cat. It took him a long time to swallow.
Frank said, “We’re going to get past this, right?”
I felt a little stunned. I hadn’t known we were going to talk about “it.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Because I don’t want to see our friendship go anywhere.”
“Me neither,” I said.
And I meant it. I really felt it when I said it. Like I was just in a place of remembering how good it felt to be friends with Frank. And like all that other stuff was gone. But I knew better than to think it would stay gone forever. Or even much longer.
“If you ever have questions about—”
“No,” I said. Too fast and too loud. Cutting him off too rudely. I didn’t want to go into anything detailed. “No, it’s not about having questions. It’s not about not accepting you. It’s …”
Yeah. Good one, Elle. Finish that sentence.
“I know what it is,” he said.
Which had to be the most deeply uncomfortable and embarrassing thing anybody had ever said to me. Ever.
Thank God Toto finally swallowed.
“I’ll come back this afternoon,” Frank said.
I was so completely mortified that I
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