I headed out early today, because the weather was nice, so that I could take the bus to the suburbs where my husband is buried and leave some flowers on his grave before the snow that’s forecasted for tomorrow. My old cat’s ashes are also scattered around my husband’s grave, making it a twofer visit. I stop by once a month or so and catch them up on the news, even though they’re both long gone, because I’m a human being and that’s how we roll.

On my way, my adult kid called me and said one of their cats was very ill and they were taking him to the veterinarian. It was too late to get off the bus and go be with them, because the bus had gotten on the highway, so I went to my husband’s grave and told him about the cat, and about the new rector at his old church. I left the flowers and walked back to the bus stop, and when the bus pulled up, the driver smiled at me and I saw a petal on a front seat. “Were you my driver coming out?” I asked, and he said he was.

Across from me, a young woman was talking to herself with animation. She was not on the phone. “$5,000 for a deposit?” she said. “I should never have started smoking.” I checked again, and no, she wasn’t on the phone. She started waving her arms.

When I arrived back in the city, I thanked the bus driver for keeping me company today. “I appreciate you,” he said cheerfully and was on his way. I texted my kid and they were just getting ready to put the cat to sleep, so that worked out. I headed to join them, the way they did for me when I had to put my cat to sleep.

I was on the way to the veterinarian. A well-kept lady with a nice purse stopped me right outside. “Excuse me,” she said, “My name is Renée. Do you think you could find it in your heart to help me get a sandwich?” I told her I couldn’t help out, because I couldn’t. I don’t carry cash.

I sat in the waiting room. It’s a nice veterinarian office. They had a candle burning and a sign that said someone was saying goodbye to their pet. I think they had three goodbyes going on, and indeed a couple came out and stuffed a leash and a blanket into a plastic bag and walked out while I was sitting there.

My kid texted me to come back to the room where they were with their dead cat, and I sat with them while they cried and told me they didn’t feel like talking, and then they kept making sure the cat was really dead. It’s hard to tell, you know. They aren’t breathing, but they look just like themselves. I felt the same way about my husband, and as I recall my kid and I went to make sure he was dead, too.

I petted the cat a little bit. “He’s cooling down,” I said, and so with that confirmation my kid was ready for them to come take the body away for shipping to the crematorium. We discussed where to put the ashes when they give them back. Probably behind the heater in the basement where the cat used to hide when people came over. They have had this cat for many years, and I have only seen him in person maybe four times, because he was always scared of strangers. I bought my kid an iced latte and a cookie, and then we went to the library, where the children’s library was closed because of heater problems. A nice librarian went in and got my kid’s hold for them, and then I put my kid on the bus.

When I got home, there was an empty box next to my steps, because someone had stolen half my Chewy delivery, the cat treats I ordered. The thief left the cat litter I ordered, though, probably because it was too heavy, plus a couple little kid’s toys that must have been in an earlier heist. I brought the litter inside and told Louie he should be glad he still has a lot of cat treats left in the previous jar.*

Sometimes I look at Louie and say to myself, “What was I thinking getting an older cat? You’re going to die and I’m going to be sad. I’m not sprinkling your damn ashes around my husband’s grave, because my husband never met you.”

Or maybe I am, because when I bought that grave I reserved a space for me. I’m not sure I want to spend eternity with my husband, but on the whole it doesn’t matter, and I won’t care. At least I hope so. Some of the Victorians used to put a bell inside their crypts in case they were buried alive, which as far as I’m concerned is a great argument for cremation.

It’s very hard to be sure that anyone is dead, is the problem. Just like it was hard to tell if that young lady on the bus was on the phone or not.

*footnote to add that I found the cat treats in someone else’s doorway further down the block later on. Seriously. As my late husband would have said to the guy, “What are you, stupid?”