Waiting Room

I am sitting in the waiting room at the Nob Hill Cat Clinic. P. is in the back, behind closed doors enduring another test. A faded calendar shaped liked a cat stares back at me, the cardboard tail wags. A young couple comes in, their cat staring wide-eyed, nervous, from the wire and plastic carrier. The wife murmurs to the cat. The cat is young and healthy, just like the couple, they have come for vaccinations. They are called to the examining room.
I wait. They are extracting urine from P. She is 16 and things have started to fall apart...kidneys go quite commonly I am told, suspiciously she is losing weight. She is half her largest size, when I pick her up there is no substance, just soft fur and light bones, the term "bone bag" flashes through my mind. A fastidious cat, I never had to clean up accidents, now almost daily she vomits the water she gorges, just clear liquid, but I am annoyed and want to scold her, but I don't, she can't help it. At night she curls up on my chest while I read, purring and looking at me through slitted eyes, elevating me to god-like status. I try not to think about it, but I realize soon she will be just a ghost, a memory, only I will remember.
I wait still... what is taking so long? Did she die back there? I surprise myself with a sudden wave of emotion and push down the lump in my throat. The receptionists are laughing and drinking Starbucks. I refocus on the wagging tail of the cardboard cat on the wall. I think of P.'s food bowl at home with the partially eaten crunchies, the small bowl of water next to it.
Waiting.