Minkus the cat was “unusually lethargic” the week before I returned home, such that my Mother rushed him to the cat hospital. “Well, he’s usually lethargic,” I said. “Yes,” my Mother replied, “but he wasn’t peeing”. That, of course, has the potential to become a problem, since not peeing often leads to peeing on the living room furniture. But then again, nobody lives in the living room. Except for old photographs of our family, in case we forget what we look like. Otherwise, nobody needs to see a 3’ by 3’ of my eleven-year-old face in black and white. So the cat may as well pee in there.

But, my Mother didn’t wish to take that chance, so she went the precautious route by handing over an uninsured creature of enormous sentimental value to an institution that wanted to “run some tests”. Dr. Lorenzo thought Minkus had an inverted intestine. Dr. Schreiber thought he had a herniated bladder. Dr. Paulsen thought Minkus had cancer in his splene. He also thought Dr. Schreiber’s name was Dr. Schwartz. The point is, we (my parents) paid two thousand dollars to learn that Minkus was, indeed, unusually lethargic. As to further complications, they wanted to run some more tests.

“Well, what’s it going to cost to run an ultrasound? And if he does have cancer, what’s it going to cost to give him chemotherapy?” asked my Mom.

Dr. Paulsen was overcome with complete shock- the kind of look my cat has when he’s peeing in the living room. “Mrs. Ramsay, I’m not sure I understand your concern.”

“What I’m saying is, if it costs five thousand dollars to get rid of the cancer, then don’t bother with the tests. If it turns out he’s got kitty cancer, we’ll wish him well in kitty heaven,” explained my Mother.

“Very well. We’ll have him cleaned up and bring him to you out front”.

The girl at the front desk, who loves cats, flipped up the mouthpiece from her headset when my Mother approached. “You’re picking up Minkus Ramsay?” No, just Minkus. “How’s he doiiiiiiiiin?” We’ll see.

It’s been a week now. He still spends most of his time sunbathing in front of the sliding glass door. And he hasn’t peed in the living room. Although, he did kill a gerbil and hid it behind the drapes. And I’m not cleaning it.