If Line Not Long

On Friday morning, Hammett was still alive—drinking water, peeing a little, hissing at medication time. I figured he was too weak to inflict any real damage, which he disproved when he bloodied both of my hands, which pleased me. I was glad he still had so much oomph. Maybe self-defense is the last thing to go.

It has been an emotional rollercoaster regarding COVID-19 and Hammett. There have been a few moments of genuine fear regarding the former, but when I took the first sip of green tea on Friday morning, the joy of being alive coursed through me.

The afternoon walk outdoors is the best and also the worst part of the day. It’s great to be out in the fresh air and see the green and trees and flowers, but annoying to encounter people strolling or standing right in the middle of the sidewalk. It occurred to me that maybe it would be nicer for now to take a bike ride instead of a walk. It should be easier to maintain biological distance on a bike.

Saturday was Hammett’s last day, and I think it was a good one from his perspective. We spent two hours or more just sitting together on my bed. I stroked his soft fur, and he purred steadily, which he had not done in days. It was also far more contact with me than he had wanted in days. The people at the animal hospital were extremely kind, and Hammett didn’t ever seem unduly alarmed.

In the weeks before he died, I often felt perfectly at peace. In some moments, I felt engulfed in sorrow, which is not an unpleasant feeling, and shed many tears. The strongest feelings since he has been gone are fear and a sort of confusion: how can he be gone? Where is he? At such moments, I wish I did believe in an afterlife, but I don’t, nor in reincarnation. My boss texted, “I’m so sorry for you. Hammett was a beautiful companion. May his soul rest and carry your love and care on to his next life.” I did find that comforting. (Oh! I just realized she assumes I have typical Buddhist beliefs, and was trying to be consonant with those beliefs.)

So many others have been there over these past couple of months, on Saturday before we walked over the vet, and since then. My father has been wonderful. Lisa and David have been wonderful.

Saturday night, I woke up feeling afraid. Not terrified, but just enough to trigger that downward spiral that starts with, “I feel afraid. What if it gets worse?”, which it then immediately does. I tried two things. One was “box breathing,” where you breathe in, hold your breath, breathe out and hold your breath, each for a count of four. I also tried noticing the sensations briefly in my left foot, right foot, left hand, right hand … . The latter seemed more helpful. I also have various words I speak to myself at such moments, including Howie’s reminder that every person has to learn to navigate fear.

As I did when Thelonious died, I have to keep reminding myself out loud what has happened: Hammett is not here because he is dead. He had cancer, and he had not eaten in eight or ten days. His last day was good.

The vet said I could probably take him home if I wanted and have Sunday with him, but that by Monday, he would probably be “recumbent” — unable to get up. She said that at that point, the only options would be euthanasia or intensive care. She said she thought I was doing the right thing, and that she thinks it’s better to euthanize a day too early rather than a day too late.

Late Saturday night, after having talked to my mother, and David and Lisa, and two of my friends from CPE, and Hammett’s cat sitter, and having exchanged texts or emails with various other people, I talked to Dad, whose response was empathic, as always. I told him I was planning to bake whole wheat bread if I couldn't buy bread at Rainbow, but that it seemed like kind of a project to figure out what equipment I would need, as I got rid of all that stuff years ago. He mentioned that maybe making flatbread would be easier. Brilliant idea! Online, I immediately found a complicated recipe that would be nearly as much work as making yeast bread and also had an ingredient that I don’t usually eat, but within a minute or two, I found a very simple recipe that looked great, with like three ingredients.

So strange to wake up and see Hammett nowhere, yet immediately obvious that so many pleasures remained: my breakfast salad and two cups of green tea; brief, fun chats on the phone with Lisa and David; the people on Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me saying funny things; getting to listen to heavy metal again, which Hammett certainly was used to but probably never came to enjoy. Actually, he probably tuned it out years ago, but in his final days, I listened to no music and I kept the main room dim to spare his enlarged pupils.

There was a good new weekly hour-long show about COVID-19 on NPR. It was informative and the calm voices were soothing. Someone mentioned just having enough groceries for an extra week on hand. Deciding that I would set a good example in the grocery store, I crossed a whole lot of things off my shopping list. Also—huge sacrifice here—in the spirit of not wasting food, I peeled and used even the tiniest little cloves of garlic in my weekly beans. Usually I just put cloves below a certain size straight into the compost because it seems like too much work for such a small amount of garlic.

Off to Rainbow I went on my bike. The day was lovely, the streets empty, the air fresh smelling. I felt happy. I counseled myself to relax, and to be prepared to adjust to unexpected conditions. Last week’s shopping trip was quite stressful. The cashier whose line I went through seemed rigid with fear. Today, I found a line outside the store extending around the corner, leading up to the one entrance that was open. People in the line were calm and pleasant and leaving each other plenty of space. The fellow behind me initially came too close. I politely asked if he would back up, and he immediately did and never closed the gap again. When we got the front of the line, I thanked him and he offered a beautiful smile in return.

Near the entrance, there was hand sanitizer, paper towels (though if you’re using hand sanitizer correctly, there isn’t anything to wipe off; rub your hands together until they are dry), and gloves for each customer to put on. I had brought my own to save Rainbow’s. A worker outside the door asked which of two kinds of shopping carts was desired, and a worker inside the store rolled the cart up to the door.

Inside the store, life could hardly have been better. It was nearly empty due to the metering. The cashiers were relaxed and happy, chatting with each other. They were about the only workers in sight. There was one directing traffic, and one or two at the front desk, but nearly all of the workers who are usually seen throughout the store were absent. The produce section still had three workers; usually there might be four or five. One of them happened to be the same person who had been standing outside the entrance. I said, “You’re everywhere! This store could not operate without you,” and she beamed and thanked me. Pickings were slim when it came to spinach. I got a packaged mixture which has spinach, chard and kale in it. Every other thing I wanted in the produce section was available.

Because of the lack of workers, if one could not figure out by oneself where the whole wheat flour was, one was out of luck. The flour section was rather depleted, but they had whole wheat flour in bulk. I got some to have on hand, but I don’t need it yet because the bread section was fully stocked. Here is where my only hoarding impulse arose: I bought three loaves, which I sometimes do, anyway, because my shopping schedule doesn’t always match the Vital Vittles delivery schedule.

There was not a single roll of toilet paper, but I have plenty. (There was a cheery sign there saying, “We’re working on it!”) Last week, bulk olives were unavailable. This week, they had packaged up a whole bunch in clear plastic containers, which I would normally avoid, but I bought a container of kalamatas. Fewer than I would normally buy, but each salad will have olives.

Periodically there was a friendly, low-key announcement asking people to give each other six feet of space.

Last week, the lines for the cash registers were very long, so I had noted on my shopping list to buy a couple of packages of frozen fruit “ILNL.” If line not long. This week, they were directing everyone to line up in just one aisle. On the floor were pieces of tape showing how far apart to stand, and a worker was directing the person at the front of the line to the next open cashier. There were two people in line when I got there. It was about 30 seconds before I was directed to a cashier; I was able to buy the frozen things.

I was absolutely delighted with the whole experience. Rainbow is doing a remarkable job! And they are a collective, probably operating on the consensus model. There is not one person who gets to decide what will be done. Really outstanding.

Back at home, I discovered there was still no sign of Hammett. We did not interact every minute we were both in the apartment; far from it. There are many minutes now when I am not conscious of his absence, as I go about the current task, which is often very pleasant and absorbing. But in the moments when he is missed, it is acute. I buried my face in his bed by the radiator just to get a hint of his lovely cat smell, and gave the bed a little kiss.