RIP, Zach

Zachary passed away yesterday evening from kidney failure. After not being able to walk for several days, he slipped into a coma on Saturday night. By then, I felt he was already gone. His eyes were vacant and glazed over. He barely moved yet his breath was steady, his mid-section rhythmically pulsed up and down. Just the day before, the vet declared him to be in non-critical condition based on his blood test results. Although he was immobile, he was alert, responding to our calls. At one point, a glimmer of his old self emerged as he vigorously rubbed his gums on the wall.

He took a turn for the worse that night and Mai took him back to the vet in the morning. He was given an IV drip and placed under a heat lamp. We decided to leave him at the vet’s for treatment. Mai went back at 6pm. He felt that Zach was somehow calling for him. When he got there, Zach’s condition had not improved and he’d had two seizures. He was still glassy-eyed but he twitched in response to Mai’s voice telling him everything was going to be ok. Mai then called me and asked what we should do. We decided to keep Zach there overnight. Not even a minute later, Mai called again, clearly distraught. Zach was gone, he said, adding, “He was waiting for me.”

Zach loved Mai best and it seemed fitting, more than a coincidence.

I was feeding the baby, trying to remain calm. But I lost it, tears welling up and nose dripping. I wiped my face on my sleeve. Nisa started screaming while I was still on the phone; when I hung up, I wished I could wail as loudly too, but instead shushed her quietly, pleading for her to stop.

Zach was in a black garbage bag when I picked him up at the vet this morning. The vet, a slight man in a surgical mask, seemed almost apologetic, explaining that he thought Zach was ok the other night. I nodded, thanked him and left, the antiseptic scent of the office contrasting drastically with the smells of exhaust, food, and human sweat on the street.

I headed to Wat Klong Toey Nai in the heart of the Klong Toey community, a densely settled area comprised of slums, a bustling market, a large port, warehouses and industrial complexes. The temple was located at the end of a narrow lane, next to a school, soft drink distribution center and Shell plant of some sort. Huge rounded oil storage facilities dominated the landscape.

At the temple, I was directed to the crematorium built specifically for animals. One of the two ovens was open, flames leaping within. Two characters, one fat and one thin, manned the operation. The thin one matter of factly asked what I had: a cat? Persian, right? Did I want a monk to chant the final rites? I said no to the latter and asked the fat one about the procedure. He gruffly directed me to dilapidated signage: 1,500 baht for the cost of maintaining the oven, the fuel and the gas. Larger animals over 20 kilos 2,000 baht. Pay the caretakers a gratuity if you wish, but we will not solicit a tip. If you encounter any extra charges, contact the abbot. Do you want a coffin for your dog or cat - Call Uncle Kai at XX-XXX-XXXX. For ashes spread in the sea, 300 baht for the boat fee.

I paid the fat guy 1,500 baht, thankful I had enough cash in my wallet. I looked at the gut bulging out of his shirt and his bulbous cauliflower nose while he wrote me a receipt, wishing I could give my cat a nicer farewell.

In the meantime, the thin guy took my bag. He opened it and placed Zach on a wooden board. This was the first time I had seen Zach’s stiff, lifeless body. He was a mass of ruffled fur. His face was scrunched up and his body was cold. I placed a paper flower on his back, patted his rump to somehow reassure him, and silently said goodbye. Bye, Zach. See you on the other side, my boy. The thin man closed the furnace door. I felt numb, like I was having an out of body experience, watching myself stand there. I looked up at the exhaust pipe, heat waves blurring the sky.

The thin man said I was early when I returned in an hour. The fat guy said to have a seat and get out of the sun. I went to sit in the shade and watched a monk chant prayers for a couple with a tan fluffy dog lying beside them. When the monk was done, the thin man took the dog and put him in the other oven. The fat caretaker asked if they wanted the ashes back. The man said no, please scatter the ashes in the water. He paid the extra fee and the couple left in a hurry.

While I waited, the monk lit up a cigarette. The thin man poured Zach’s ashes onto a tray and was tossing them, separating bone fragment from ash. Powder poofed out in a cloud each time the ashes settled back onto the tray and the man turned away so as not to inhale the dust. When he was done, he bagged the remaining pieces in a piece of muslin. He handed them to me in a green plastic bag and I held the warm ashes in my hands and got into the car, still feeling as if the whole experience was surreal.

I thought of Zach in his prime and wanted to cry so I put his remains beside me and distracted myself with the activity outside. Workers from the oil plant were eating lunch. I vaguely thought about making mushroom broth when I got home. I automatically steadied the bag as the car jarred, as if Zach was actually sitting beside me. Ashes leaked onto the seat and I brushed them off, wondering if that was an appropriate thing to do.

When I got home, I took Zach’s remains out of the plastic bag and put them in a paper box that previously held a wedding gift. The baby was asleep. I mechanically ate half a sandwich. I felt nothing until I started to write this entry, and the tears flow. Rest in peace, Zachary. Thank you for coming into our lives. We miss you tremendously.