"The Dying Kitten"
A brief report from the thin line between the living and the dying...
by Bill Bonner
Poitou, France - "We’ll hit the pause button today. We’ll catch up with the economy tomorrow. Herewith, for no particular reason and of no particular importance, is what happened over the weekend. “Is it still alive?” Elizabeth wanted to know. The poor kitten, one of four she had rescued, had been brought into the office. There, she tried to nurse it…with extra rations and a warm blanket. But it wasn’t looking good.
The four kittens were just part of a litter at a neighbor’s house. Born in a barn to a stray cat, they weren’t likely to survive for very long. Elizabeth had grabbed those she could reach and brought them home. “I’ll try to find homes for them.” After a couple of days of feeding and cleaning up, three seemed to be doing well – playing in the yard…jumping…happily amusing themselves by getting into everything. The other one barely moved.
Death in the Fall: It was a beautiful fall weekend in this part of France. The sky was clear. The days were warm. And the nights were crisp, with a bright moon leaving long dark shadows across the lawn. A few of the trees have begun to shed their leaves…one or two of them danced on the breeze before disappearing into a ditch. But the bulk of the autumnal dying is still ahead.
On Sunday, we went to a special mass, a memorial to a local girl who died in an accident many years ago. “She was so pretty and so smart,” explained a friend. “Her father and mother adored her, of course. They expected her to take over the family business. But when she died the whole family fell apart. They just couldn’t get over it. The mother started drinking. She was okay for a while, then she’d go on a binge. Finally, she got lung cancer from smoking so much. She was thin as a rail. They spent years fighting the cancer…alcoholism…and depression. She died last year. And the poor father. He used to be so outgoing. So sociable. He had a career in politics. Everyone liked him. And then, he just closed in on himself.”
We saw him in church. Stooped. Gray. He looked much older than we remembered him. Along with many others, we had come to pay our respects to him. But as soon as the service was over, he slipped out of the side door.
Elizabeth coached us as we were making our way out of the church. “There’s Jean-Jacques. He lost his wife last year.” “What was her name?” “Francoise…be sure to say something to him. And there’s Marie-Juliette, don’t forget to ask how Rene is doing.” “Who’s Rene?” “Her husband…he had an operation; I can’t remember what kind of operation.” “Oh, you know…” Marie-Juliette replied. “He has good days and bad days… He had a heart operation; the surgeon was very pleased with it. But it didn’t seem to do Rene much good.”
Middle Ages: Friends gathered in front of the ancient church, built in the middle ages. We exchanged greetings…and thoughts that the old stones must have heard 1,000 times.
“It’s hard getting old,” our friend continued. “So many things can go wrong. I think of all the people we know who are widows or widowers. And so many our age who can’t get around because they have some problem.” He listed a few. One neighbor spends his days in a wheelchair; he has a degenerative nerve disease. Another has such a serious case of arthritis, her hands and feet have twisted…making it difficult to walk. Still others are dying of this or that. “I guess we are all going the same way, sooner or later. And I guess we should be grateful that we’re not there yet.”
Back at home, “How are the kittens doing?” we asked Elizabeth. “The vet said to keep the sick one warm…and bring them in tomorrow, if they’re still alive.”
From across the road, Claude and Christine came to visit. Claude limped. He is much younger than we are, but much heavier…and a farmer. He’s had to stop work. One knee was repaired. He shifted his weight onto the other one. “Now they say I have to have my left knee operated on too, because I’ve been using it too much. Then, it will be another 6 months off work. I’m going a little crazy sitting around the house.” Christine nodded her head in agreement.
Deep France: “But did you hear the good news? Well, maybe it’s not good news for you. Your renters are leaving you. [We rent out two tiny houses on our property.] “What a shock. I saw that they were getting along well…but I was surprised. They’re moving out so they can move into a bigger place – together.”
The shock of it comes from the fact that one of our tenants is 62 years old and already retired. Paul, a disabled electrician, has an earring, which seems uncharacteristically fashionable for this area. This is ‘la France profonde’ – deep France – where the fashions of Paris seem far away…and generally unwelcome. Paul has a bad hip. The other renter is a young woman in her 30s. Heavily tattooed and extremely shy, she might have some disability of her own. Improbably, they got together.
Later in the day, Paul came over to ask permission to break the lease. Then, explaining his new living arrangement: “I didn’t expect it. But you never know. These things happen. I just hope it lasts.” “Best of luck to you both,” we said, as we raised a coffee mug.
By Sunday evening, the kitten was still breathing. But barely. We studied it. It was alive. Prodded, it could move its paws. It murmured once or twice. We watched as it struggled for breath. There is such a thin line between the living and the dead…sometime during the night, the line was crossed. Breathing stopped. These things happen."
