Preparing for the day’s patients, the receptionist glances at the first chart for the morning. Name: TomCat Litchfield. Breed: Siamese-Mix. Date of Birth: June 02, 1986. Wow, now that’s an old cat, she snickers, thinking that she wasn’t even a twinkle in her dad’s eye back then.

 In alarm clock fashion, the day begins with the clank of the cow bell as the heavy glass door to the small clinic slowly opens. Old Miss Litchfield shuffles in, perpetually bent over from years of scrubbing dusty footprints lining long corridors and too many flights of stairs leading nowhere. She winces, as her arms are burdened under the weight of old TomCat. Not that TomCat weighed more then the bag of bones he was, it was just that Miss Litchfield’s painfully brittle stick arms couldn’t bare much weight. But for years she has always insisted on carrying him herself, no matter what her health. The veterinarian staff learned long ago, that although frail, she knew her mind and was a woman you’d never catch resting.

Miss Doris, the name she preferred by those who knew her, became more fragile as she aged. But what would one expect; she had to be over 80 by now.  Somehow, seeing her endure her own hardships helped those around her appreciate their own life a little more and they loved her for it.  Everyday out for her “constitutional walk”, she’d shuffle along the sidewalks of the neighborhood stopping for whoever it was that needed their day brightened. Her vivid purple housedress was cheerful enough but she always added a Howdy-do along the way.  We all thought she only had the one purple dress, but today she wore black. It forecasted her day. It was probably a .50 cent thrift store bargain, as it hung off her boney shoulders, exposing the safety pins holding the elastic of her bra strap together. But regardless of her dress, she always wore a smile; a big toothy grin that was somehow, simply infectious.

            “Hello Miss Doris, you here with TomCat today?” Asked the receptionist, knowing that she was the first appointment of the day with Dr. Gill.

            Miss Doris forced a smile as she slowly moved to the seat nearest the exam room doors.  She faltered at the chair, but held tight on to old TomCat as she sat down. She shifted in her seat until he was square on her lap, then puffed her cheeks and breathed a heavy sigh.           

            “What’s that ya’ say?” she yelled out in a thin scratchy voice.

            The receptionist hollered a little louder, “I said, I see you got TomCat with you today.” 

“Yup, that’s right. It’s just me and Tom, just me …and Tom,” she softly muttered to herself as her arthritic fingers lovingly stroked the old furless bag of bones lying motionless on her lap. “Come to see ...Dr. Gill….” Her voice trailed off to a whisper.

            Today was TomCat’s last day to draw breath. He’d stopped eating weeks ago and looked more pitiful then usual. He had big patches of fur missing; his eyes were thickly matted, he was mostly dehydrated and as thin as a toothpick.

“Come on back Miss Doris.” The vet tech called out to her as she came from around the receptionist area. She gasped. Was Miss Doris dead? Her eyes were closed and she sat corpse quiet. She was skeleton thin; her arms translucent black and blue, but like waves lapping the beach her boney hand continued to gently stroke that old cat over and over. “Miss Doris?” she inquired again ever so softly.

            “Yes dear.” She opened her own matted eyes, staring blankly at the technician.     

            “It’s time Miss Doris.”

            “Yes dear, I know. Will you take Tom back for me? I just don’t have the strength today dear. We’ve been friends along time, him and me. You know, he saw me through the murder of my son in 1989," her voice softly cracked, "and in the death of my husband just a few years later." She slowed and pursed her lips, "And the loss of our home a few years back. He’s been with me when I had a few dollars and now that I don’t. Yet, thru it all he remained my faithful and best friend. We’ve said our goodbyes. Tom deserves a rest.”

She quietly wept as she handed over TomCat.  He was as light as a kitten. Her arms lifelessly fell to her side.   The technician turned away quickly; old TomCat was already gone.

Miss Doris struggled to get up from the chair; she stoically left the small vet clinic without a word. Walking slightly straighter, she shuffled back to her little apartment around the corner.

Tired from the morning, she rested at her table. Closed her eyes and pictured Tom in her mind, and as she lay her head down, she met him with again; knowing that she too deserved a rest.