By: Heidi L. Lane
Dec. 20, 2002
Martin stretched and yawned as he reached down and patted the warm, furry body that lay so close to his. “Time to get up, Fibbi,” he said, turning on the light. Lately, since the move to New York, the cat had seemed to have more and more difficulty dragging itself out of bed. She wasn’t the immaculately groomed animal she had been just a few months ago either.
Fibbi lay on the bed while Martin dressed, half watching him. When he was ready he picked her up and brought her out to the kitchen and set her down on the counter. She laid down where he’d set her while he got out a packet of cat food. She lifted her head and licked the food, then lay back down again.
“What’s wrong, Fibbi? Not hungry?” Martin asked solicitously. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat beside her trying to coax her into eating, just a little. Soon it was time to go. Martin sighed and made a decision.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number at the office. “Jack Malone, please,” he said as the operator picked up.
After a few moments he heard a short bark of, “Malone.”
“Rough day, Jack?” he asked conversationally, as he patted the animal that had been a constant companion since he’d graduated Quantico.
“What do you want, Martin?”
“I…um, I’m not sure I can come in today. I have to go to the vet’s office. To bring Fibbi there, that is.”
“Who’s Fibbi?”
“My cat,” Martin said looking down at the creature, which was already asleep again. “She’s sick, Jack.”
What a thing to happen five days before Christmas, he thought as Jack replied, “I didn’t even know you had a cat.”
“Well, I do and she’s not eating. She’s about 15 years old.”
“Getting on in years,” his supervising agent said sympathetically.
“Yeah, I guess. I’ll try and come in after… we see the vet.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”
“Bye,” Martin said as the phone went dead. Reaching down to pick up his old friend he said, “Come on, Fib.”
* ^ * ^ *
“Well, she’s very sick, Mr. Fitzgerald. This lump on her chin is cancerous. She’s not eating because it hurts to.”
“What do you think? Could surgery help?” the young man asked, reaching down to rub her behind her ears. How could this be happening? Martin thought.
“There’s really not much we could do, I’m afraid. The growth is across her whole jaw here.”
“So, I guess…” Martin’s voice cracked, “I guess, you should put her down? So she won’t be in any more pain.” So Christmas-time is going to be the anniversary of this.
The veterinarian nodded, “It would probably be best. You can stay if you want or you can wait outside.”
“I’ll stay.” Martin steeled himself and rubbing the cat on her head he said, “I love you, Fibbi. You’re a good girl.”
“She won’t feel much more than a prick. We use a barbiturate, just like in anesthesia. It has an extra ingredient so as it moves through the circulator system, everything stops.”
“Okay,” Martin said, though he hadn’t really heard what the woman had said. He was thinking about all the past Christmases that he’d spent with this bundle of fur. He was remembering how excited Fibbi had gotten at the tree inside the apartment and all the shiny things dangling off it. He remembered his first Christmas with her and how scared he’d gotten when he’d noticed her eating tinsel of the tree. He’d never used it again after hearing all the horror stories about how it got tangled in the animal’s intestines.
A nurse came in and held Fibbi’s paw out so the vet could put the needle in it. As she depressed the stopper on the end of the needle, the gray cat relaxed and when the nurse released her she laid down. Meanwhile Martin told Fibbi how much he loved her and what a good cat she was.
The vet placed her stethoscope’s end to Fibbi’s chest and after a few moments said, “She’s gone. You can stay for a little while if you’d like.”
Martin nodded his thanks. As the doctor left the small sterile room, Martin lost his composure and started crying. After saying his good-byes to the only constant thing in his life through three different moves, he walked quietly back to the vet’s outer office.
“What’s wrong,” asked a woman holding a small dog.
“My cat… cancer,” Martin said succinctly.
“I’m sorry,” she responded, hugging the despondent agent. He nodded his thanks and slowly left the animal hospital.
* ^ * ^ *
“So how’s your kitty?” Danny asked as he entered the office.
“She isn’t,” Martin replied, sitting at his desk and thinking about how lonely Christmas would be without Fibbi.
“Isn’t what?” Vivian asked coming to stand nearby.
“Alive. They put her to sleep.”
“Oh, I so sorry,” Vivian said gently. She placed a hand on Martin’s shoulder and he felt his eyes mist up again.
“Maybe you should go home?” Danny asked.
“Hi all,” Samantha said entering the office, with a large box. “Look what made me late this morning.”
“They’re cute,” Danny said peering into the box. “Look, Martin, kittens.”
“It maybe too soon,” Vivian warned softly. Martin looked into the box and patted a brown tabby kitten on the head. The little creature batted at his hand with a small white paw and meowed.
“Where’d you find them?” Martin asked picking the tabby up and cuddling it.
“Their mom’s been hanging around my apartment building. She won’t let me near her, they tamed down though. I’ve been feeding them on my porch. I corralled them this morning.”
“Are they old enough to be away from their mom?” Martin asked, smiling though the tears in his eyes as the kitten he held climbed up on his back.
“Yeah, I took them to the vet on my way here. He said they were about nine months old. Gave them their shots too.”
“What are you gonna do with three kittens?” Danny asked.
“I don’t know. I thought I’d put an ad in the paper. You know, ‘Free Kittens, to good homes.’ He seems to like you Martin, want him.”
“Samantha, his cat just died this morning.” Vivian said softly.
“I can’t imagine an apartment without a little feline friend to come home to, Viv.” Martin said softly. “I’ll give it a shot.”
Danny smiled as Martin snuggled the tabby kitten again. “What are you gonna name him?”
“Samuel,” Martin stated, walking back to his desk and pressing his face into the kitten’s soft fur.
“That’s sweet,” Jack said entering the office and spotting Martin with a small bundle of fur in his lap. “I thought his cat was sick,” he added.
“That’s his new cat. His old one just died. Is that altogether healthy? Shouldn’t he grieve for the other before he gets a new one?” Vivian said, looking over at the young agent.
“He did and he is. But it’s probably comforting to have a furry friend to cuddle with. He’s probably used to cuddling with a cat when he’s upset over anything. Now he’s upset over losing his cat. The kitten won’t replace her, but it is a small comfort. It gives a feeling of normalcy,” Jack explained, smiling as he noticed that the kitten had fallen asleep with Martin’s hand resting on it’s back.
End