When I was younger, I found a stray cat clinging to life.
He was starving, every bone in his tiny body was visible, hair was falling out in multiple places, death was singing to him, his frail body swaying to the melody.
I quickly took him home and nursed him back to health.
Over that journey together, we went from strangers to best friends.
To my delight, he made a fast recovery and soon began climbing on anything he could get his paws on.
His favorite thing to climb was the oak tree in front of our house. The stable strength of if drew in the small cat that had nothing stable in its life before.
The problem was it didn’t have the courage to climb back down, it shivered in fear and meowed for help as long as it could.
I climbed up that tree multiple times to save her but one fateful weekend, I couldn’t.
Mommy dearest took us to the apex of Arcadia to spend a weekend with the titans of this world.
When we came back, we found it still in the tree reaching to the sky, his fate was sealed when fear became the dominant part of his psyche.
When he should have slowly climbed back down, he clung on to what he had and became another victim to take to the vet.
No vet, no doctor in the world can bring someone back from the dead.
All that was left was to bury my little partner, I couldn’t do anything else.
All I could take solace in was the fact we gave him a good life, short as it may be.
He was struggling but I brought it to health to the point he made it to the top.
He was happy, content to stay up there for hours until he needed to climb him and get him back to safety.
I just wish I was there when it mattered, he was my little partner and if my hands couldn’t reach him, he was lost for good and his heart played its final beat.
Whenever I see El Mariachi Muerte, I can’t help but to think of my little buddy, my little el gato.
You climbed the ladder both literally and metaphorically, you are on top with everything you ever wanted.
You should be happy but instead, you’re shaking, fear has gripped you into becoming a shell of what you used to be.
Doctor Death is there to take care of you for now but what happens if you can’t tag him in?
What happens when you’re forced to be alone with Stubbins Doom?
You’ll be whimpering like I imagine he was in those final moments.
You’ll be reaching out for something you just can’t touch and go from the apex to the abyss quicker than anyone expected.
Your title reigns will end on a sad note as opposed to a song you chose to make.
Even Dr. Death can’t protect you from that.
He can only try to save you before the end.
Pray that your doctor is in or linger in the hell of a waiting room that is your life.