I remember the first time, twelve years ago,
when a spring-loaded kitten
jumped down from my desk and sat on my lap.
His name was Shamus,
but we sometimes called him "Wild Thing",
so I was delighted to have earned a little trust.
Today, "Wild Thing" was sitting on my lap for the very last time,
as we waited for the vet to open that dreaded door.
He was serene -- I was sad,
but also delighted that he put all his trust in me.
I remember thinking how his life is truly in my hands,
and how it troubles me to have already made a decision
that he doesn't know about ...
or does he?