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And I asked myself what me would possibly do now. How he would figure myself a way out of here. A near-death experience in two acts.

“I go and wash myself now.”
And he puts his sleeping pants off.

Me could feel her last breath on my chest. A last inflation of her lung. An empty body. All purged. Not weak anymore, not half alive. Dead. A dead peace of a being, resting in nothing. Finally. “Sleep well – Goodbye Leni”
“What shall we do”
“The body”
“Burn tomorrow morning”
“No she is alive”
“Let her rest – she had a long fight”

She smelt badly. She pooped herself all over. And also a warm rottenness. She was scared to death, crying, a rebellion against with all her mortal strength. A silent suffering. Stuttering breath. All life out of beat. She was squirming in pain, blandly. Me took her in his arms.
“You want to hold her”
After a short while.
“No. Take her”
Me was thinking how to bury her. Where. Me could feel the shadows of decay when he took her in his arms after she felt out of the bed. They heard a bump. A bump weak as a kitten. A dying kitten. Leni was lying in her own shit. Faeces everywhere. Me lifted her up and felt her surrender. He bore a piece of life, precious life.

The other kitten playing in between, chasing her tail. A foreshadow of superstition crossed his mind. Another one. “They become emphatically and unmistakable. The second cat passed away. The male was put down, during they stayed in Japan, precisely Tokyo, one day after Me asked her parents for permission to propose marriage to her.

Me was thinking of how to get over this.

Me remembered his feeling about giving away the box of the projector. It´s unused, empty and just takes space. And he loves to throw away. Things. Myself. And I. All what is around him has to be shrunk to the most functional but minimum. And Me had always a feeling he might need it back soon as mostly after things were sacrificed to the positive minimum of a personal engagement, a personalizing maximum. “Good” pats Me his back proudly. Realizing how humiliting this thought is, holding a dying cat in his arms. Me pulled him closer to his chest. She loves to wrap up on his hairy chest. Or when she was hiding under his beard, with her front bend on his shoulder. Sometimes she carved her long clumsy nails, she couldn´t really handle to pull back, so she always had some textile in tow, in the healing long scar on his collarbone. When Me stayed with his fiancé in Germany only 4 weeks ago, for surgery, removing a titanium plate from his collarbone… long story short, it broke again, at a friend´s house, at night, after showering. He didn´t dare to wake anyone up, even though in terrible pain as there was no discharge of adrenalin, no easing body´s own drug. Me was barely able to move, to take a breath. Like you take a breath with all caution, not sure if your throat will dissolve next in a chemical reaction of toxication. She was cuddling herself next to him in insomnia, badly performed, while Me was trying to find a less crushing positioning. Being misled by this surrealistic stage of life, trying not to freak out as this would have caused only more pain in one or another but not less straining way. Me was sworing, cursing the curse of his bad company, who never was there when needed, who gave up on him long time ago, when love played the trick of romance on him.

Me was also thinking about the planket on which the cat pooped on, that he would wrap her up in this. This. Shroud. “And it´s gone, two on one strike” And he felt much lighter. He was still not sure about the projector box though. The warranty was still in force.

Another cry. “These cries will hunt my dreams” Agitated dyspnoeic shallow breathing. Silence again, a slowly dying noisy silence. “I can´t kill you – How” Wring the neck – could lift the wooden box of a table, like a guillotine, heavy enough – choke her – drown her – her head in a plastic bag – or hold her very close, bittersweet embracement” Me felt salvina and tears running down his fingers in which her head was resting since ages. Again. One. – Cry. Her body stretches, rebeling against the pain, fear. And death. “Sorry”
“Is this a sign – how many cats have to die, bones and hearts to break” “I could tell her the truth, that I killed the cat – she could never forgive me that”

Me placed the cat on a towel, a memory from Loud Park, a metal festival they visited together in Tokyo. “Here sweety, a cool metal shroud for you. Rest”

“Will we have sex of solace – will it be best sex we had – the last time we will – to do something beautiful”

At night the other kitten peed in the bed again. They didn´t had sex.

Who allowed this people two play love.
“We killed two cats”