s.e. smith | Longreads | November 2017 | 17 minutes (4,363 words)
The veterinarian looks anxious as she enters the room, clearly dreading the conversation she must have many times a night on the late shift at the emergency clinic.
Yes, your pet is dying. No, I’m afraid there’s not much we can do, she is bracing herself to say.
Her scrubs are a rich maroon, coordinating with the jewel-toned surroundings of the hushed exam room in the swanky clinic. Thick doors block the sound from outside, the interstitial space where they’ve left me alone in an echoing silence with a grim steel table and a box of tissues after the technician rushed my cat to the back, somewhere in the bowels of the hospital. The last time I saw her she was gasping for air, eyes huge, expression: betrayed.
I wonder if I will see her again.
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