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Description
The feather zips through the air, and then skids across the floor, the tip temporarily resting between two claws, gripped just firmly enough to hold it. Swish, it flies, followed closely by a small silver kitten. Flick, the feather changes direction faster then the kitten can hope to. Nails scraping on the tile flour as it fights to catch up. Then up the feather flies just as the kitten reaches it, and up the kitten goes, after it. But cats weren't meant to fly so after a twist and turn, down the kitten falls, tiny paws still trying to reach the object it most desires to capture. It’s energy and speed makes the little guy seem strong, invincible. Yet its painful to know how fast those qualities can disappear.
          The words go through me. I hear them in a detached manner I had never felt before. They did everything they could. My eyes squeeze closed to stop the tears that threaten to fall. His own body has turned against him. My lip trembles. I bite down hard so that the movement won’t make me lose the small grip I have on my control. My heart hurts. It will be kinder just to let him go.               “NO!” My mind screams. “NO!”
          But I was born a veterinarian's daughter. I know what I must do. And the strength I have worked my whole life for comes to my rescue. “Yes, it would be kinder.”  I mummer so softly that I’m not sure if I had said them out loud or in my head.
           A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, large and warm, I draw comfort from it as I have done a thousand times before.
          Then I’ll get my coat and we’ll go. Yes. The need I have to see my little kitten is getting stronger. I felt if I didn’t hurry he’d just be gone. I might never get to say good-bye.
           Yesterday morning he had been playing with a string, darting this way, then that. By lunch he was just laying there, not moving. The stillness that had come over him had frightened me. He was never still. Something’s wrong. “Do something!” I had begged my dad. “Please.”
           The lady at the hospital was typing when I walked up to the window. Soon we had our information down and she was reaching for my baby. “What’s his name?” she asked softly, sympathy stamped on her face. “Sinjin” I replied, and after a brief pause “Sinjin, the Duke of Caterwall.” I thought if they knew his status of royalty it might help.
          We left him there.  I couldn’t stand to watch him getting weaker and weaker. The spark of life that was there such a few hours before was draining from him. I think I knew he wouldn’t live.
That night I prayed, I begged, I bargained. I knew it wouldn’t do any good. My mother always said, “God moves in mysterious ways.”  But sometimes even praying doesn’t help. Still I prayed.
Now in the car I reached for the music. The sun is shining brightly through the window. That seems so out of place to me. That the sun would shine on a day like this.
            The lady is at the front office today. “I’m here to see Sinjin.” I tell her. “Oh!” her eyes fill with pity. “This way.”
          Before I got within two feet of the door where my kitten is, I can hear him crying. It is so weak. Tears flood my eyes, making everything go fuzzy for a few seconds, and I blink rapidly.
There looking so small and fragile is my Sinjin. Tubes in his arms. His skin hugging his bones, his eyes sunken. “Sinjin.”
           The thin cries stop. His sky blue eyes now with a distant and glazed look in them, find me.
“He was just waiting for you,” my father says.
           I take a step, then another. It seems forever until I reach him. He looks up with the adoration that only an animal can give his master. Its almost as if he knows I will make it right.
I run my hand down his back. There is so little left of him. Yet the tears I have been fighting since he got sick are gone. I have to be strong now. For him.
I whisper my goodbyes, petting him, scratching his favorite places, telling him I love him.
          Then I look at the lady with a needle filled with clear liquid. I pull him in my arms as much as I can without hurting him. And I nod.
The needle is slowly slid into the tube that has been giving him liquid. “I love you, Sinjin,” I whisper.
          With one last cry he leaves me. I feel the spirit go out of him. And he’s gone. Gone.
I hug him close, blaming myself. For something had warned me not to give him the medicine that would keep him from getting cancer when he was older. A nagging voice. But I had. And that medicine kills two out of every one hundred cats. He was one of the two.
           The feather lays gripped in the kitten’s paws. Having caught it, he is content. Curled up in my lap purring. Trusting me above all.
           He never got the shot that killed his namesake; and he never will.

Description
The feather zips through the air, and then skids across the floor, the tip temporarily resting between two claws, gripped just firmly enough to hold it. Swish, it flies, followed closely by a small silver kitten. Flick, the feather changes direction faster then the kitten can hope to. Nails scraping on the tile flour as it fights to catch up. Then up the feather flies just as the kitten reaches it, and up the kitten goes, after it. But cats weren't meant to fly so after a twist and turn, down the kitten falls, tiny paws still trying to reach the object it most desires to capture. It’s energy and speed makes the little guy seem strong, invincible. Yet its painful to know how fast those qualities can disappear.
          The words go through me. I hear them in a detached manner I had never felt before. They did everything they could. My eyes squeeze closed to stop the tears that threaten to fall. His own body has turned against him. My lip trembles. I bite down hard so that the movement won’t make me lose the small grip I have on my control. My heart hurts. It will be kinder just to let him go.               “NO!” My mind screams. “NO!”
          But I was born a veterinarian's daughter. I know what I must do. And the strength I have worked my whole life for comes to my rescue. “Yes, it would be kinder.”  I mummer so softly that I’m not sure if I had said them out loud or in my head.
           A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, large and warm, I draw comfort from it as I have done a thousand times before.
          Then I’ll get my coat and we’ll go. Yes. The need I have to see my little kitten is getting stronger. I felt if I didn’t hurry he’d just be gone. I might never get to say good-bye.
           Yesterday morning he had been playing with a string, darting this way, then that. By lunch he was just laying there, not moving. The stillness that had come over him had frightened me. He was never still. Something’s wrong. “Do something!” I had begged my dad. “Please.”
           The lady at the hospital was typing when I walked up to the window. Soon we had our information down and she was reaching for my baby. “What’s his name?” she asked softly, sympathy stamped on her face. “Sinjin” I replied, and after a brief pause “Sinjin, the Duke of Caterwall.” I thought if they knew his status of royalty it might help.
          We left him there.  I couldn’t stand to watch him getting weaker and weaker. The spark of life that was there such a few hours before was draining from him. I think I knew he wouldn’t live.
That night I prayed, I begged, I bargained. I knew it wouldn’t do any good. My mother always said, “God moves in mysterious ways.”  But sometimes even praying doesn’t help. Still I prayed.
Now in the car I reached for the music. The sun is shining brightly through the window. That seems so out of place to me. That the sun would shine on a day like this.
            The lady is at the front office today. “I’m here to see Sinjin.” I tell her. “Oh!” her eyes fill with pity. “This way.”
          Before I got within two feet of the door where my kitten is, I can hear him crying. It is so weak. Tears flood my eyes, making everything go fuzzy for a few seconds, and I blink rapidly.
There looking so small and fragile is my Sinjin. Tubes in his arms. His skin hugging his bones, his eyes sunken. “Sinjin.”
           The thin cries stop. His sky blue eyes now with a distant and glazed look in them, find me.
“He was just waiting for you,” my father says.
           I take a step, then another. It seems forever until I reach him. He looks up with the adoration that only an animal can give his master. Its almost as if he knows I will make it right.
I run my hand down his back. There is so little left of him. Yet the tears I have been fighting since he got sick are gone. I have to be strong now. For him.
I whisper my goodbyes, petting him, scratching his favorite places, telling him I love him.
          Then I look at the lady with a needle filled with clear liquid. I pull him in my arms as much as I can without hurting him. And I nod.
The needle is slowly slid into the tube that has been giving him liquid. “I love you, Sinjin,” I whisper.
          With one last cry he leaves me. I feel the spirit go out of him. And he’s gone. Gone.
I hug him close, blaming myself. For something had warned me not to give him the medicine that would keep him from getting cancer when he was older. A nagging voice. But I had. And that medicine kills two out of every one hundred cats. He was one of the two.
           The feather lays gripped in the kitten’s paws. Having caught it, he is content. Curled up in my lap purring. Trusting me above all.
           He never got the shot that killed his namesake; and he never will.