My cat has cancer. Like, a lot of it. Cat-chemo and cat-radiation aren’t really things, so it looks like he’s screwed. Big deal, right? He’s just a cat. But I don’t believe in cat heaven, so I’m a little bummed this is the last bit of time I get to hang out with him.

Especially because I feel like I fucked up.

Scot Moon is the first and only pet I’ve ever owned. He was a staple of the college house I lived in. He had more personality than a lot of people I met at college. We hung out a lot. I let him roam free, and he did what he wanted, which ended up being a lot of boring shit mixed with some crazy shit. But since graduating, I haven’t seen much of him. He moved in with my parents, and so did I, but soon, I moved out and didn’t bring him with me. My parents loved him and we were losing our long-time family pets to old age right at the same time. Plus, if I wasn’t living at home, I was living someplace shitty and small that couldn’t compare to his current situation.

So I haven’t been around him much. I always figured he had at least 10 more years. Once I got into a more permanent situation, I’d see more of him, or take him back with me. The first problem with that was that my parents, like, really freaking love Scot Moon. Even if I could have taken him with me, I wouldn’t have because he numbed empty-nest syndrome. The second problem was I didn’t get – and still haven’t gotten – that more permanent situation. I’m not even financially stable enough to take care of myself, much less another living, breathing thing.

And now he’s dying. Tomorrow could come, and Scot Fucking Moon could be cold and stiff. And that depresses me.

I just got the news about his condition today. I knew he’d been sick for a while, but the vet would always fix it. And then he would get sick again, and on it went. The whole time, I had this feeling that some shit would go down – there have been a few scares – I just didn’t think it would go down, like really go down, so soon.

Anyway, I got the news, and within an hour was driving home with my girlfriend to see him and, as best as we can tell, say our goodbyes. On the drive, she put on the song, “I’ll Fly Away.” Great Gospel tune, always sends me to O Brother Where Art Thou. And for a moment, I was happy.

Then, I came to a strange realization. The song was going to be over in just a few minutes. It had just begun, but I was already thinking about the fact that it would soon end. It freaked me out. Before I knew it, I was comparing songs to life. But not just any songs. Specifically, songs we know and love very well. There’s a process there, and it’s depressing as shit, and I think it’s the same one that happens with important things in our life.

We hear the song for the first time. We love it. We make a habit of listening to that song whenever we can, and each time we do, without any conscious effort, we try to make each second of that song last. Because we understand what it means to us, and we want it there, so we want to make that song be there for as long as our mind can will it.

And that goes on for a long time. But then, one day, it changes. Maybe it’s while you listen to the song. Maybe it’s when you’re thinking about listening to the song. But something in you groans and says, “I don’t really feel like it right now.” And you think , “Okay, no big deal. Later today.” But you have that conversation about the song over and over, and all the sudden, you haven’t listened to the song in six months.

I thought about all of this as I traversed I-696 from Detroit to Lansing. And for maybe the first time ever, I had the thought that listening to music may actually make me more depressed. I mean, I listen to music that makes me depressed all the time, but that’s the cathartic kind of depression. I’m saying I thought that if music played, I would just want to turn it off. The thought was fleeting, but it actually come to existence in my head, which is unprecedented.

I finally found music I could listen to, and it was actually making me feel better. Then, I saw a road sign. I’d been so caught up in the music I hadn’t noticed where I was. I was much closer to home – to Scot – than I figured. And I hated that. Not that I didn’t want to see my parents and my cat. I did. I couldn’t figure out what it was.

Then I realized: Arriving home meant I had to face the reality of the situation. This cat I’d gotten the summer before my senior year and had become a part of not just my personality, but the personality of my friend group, will soon cease to exist. But as long as I was driving to see him, I knew he was okay. I wanted to say in that place as long as I could before having to look in the eyes of a legacy of my youth and watch the lights go out.

This isn’t an original thought or emotion. But it’s something new for me. Even if I’ve felt that reluctance before, I think I’ve always assumed it was because I’m a selfish asshole. This is the first time I realized that I’m feeling a certain way because as long as I’m in the place I’m in, I won’t have to let something important go, so I cling desperately to that place so I can keep it as long as I can.

But, here I am. Writing you from home.