Vet

Today I was sitting in the vet waiting for my dog. Across from me were two men, one in his sixties and another I could only assume was half way through his nineties. The two were obviously there with each other, a father and son I can only assume.

In the younger man's hands was a bag, a dunnes stores bag, the type of bag made from hemp or whatever it is. Inside the bad was a cat. The thing looked like it was on its last legs. Its fur has become discoloured, each breath looked like it could be the last. The man held onto the bag in a way which was obviously discomforting, he didn't seem to mind though.

After the attractive receptionist left the room, the elder of the two began to speak.

"Sixteen years old" he smiled. He must have seen I was looking.

"We take her in here every month to give her some shots, they're about the only thing keeping her going these days". He seemed more proud than sad at his own words.

I gave him a polite smile and looked back at the cat. Then I started feeling sorry, sorry for the old man, if anything happens that cat he'd probably be lost. Then my mind turned to his life after that cat, each moment whittling away until his last, then he's gone.

Later on I started thinking what I'd feel like if I was that man. I wouldn't want some waster twenty year old feeling sorry for me. Pitying my very existence from the brief time he spent in a room with me. It's going to happen someday though, isn't it? If I live long enough people are going to start pitying me. They'll look at my broken down skin, my bald head, my stained clothes.

I guess what the whole point of this is, I hate getting old.