Drowning in the fluid that is filling his lungs, my cat Mason is wrapped and restrained in towels, still giving a desperate kick to escape my mother’s grasp. He never did like to be held, and I can’t help but smile through the watery lens of my tears at his grumpy frustration about being handled in this disgraceful manner. I take in the moment, trying to remember every part of his life before he has to go. It’s a beautiful fur coat, for the most part white as snow, but with splotches of black and auburn as well. His black and brown mask covers his eyes, cheeks white, with a brown spot under his chin, like the beard of a dragon. This isn’t where he should be; this plain white room, with a white floor and white fluorescent lights. He always liked to be outside. All too soon, I hear the veterinarian come in, with the poison that would end his suffering. I hear voices around me, probably my father, mother, and the vet, but I’m not listening. The only thing I want to notice are his large, blue-green eyes, staring grumpily at the floor. He doesn’t know what is going on; I can tell. All he knows is that he is restrained, and he wants to leave, no matter how sick he feels. But then the vet pulls back a bandage, and puts a needle in the tube he has on the back of his leg. I had heard before how death is peaceful, like they are going to sleep. It’s not. I watched, holding onto my seat as if gravity had reversed itself, pulling me towards Mason. I’ll never forget as his head sunk like a stone, and the living creature I had loved turned into nothing but another object in the room.