The 106th death.
[Text and photo by Nipa Charagi]
If Pepsi, 14, hadn’t bitten off her stitches, she would still have been, well, alive… eating, sleeping, snoring (it’s like a truck trying to get out of a ditch, but more rhythmic) and dreaming, in that order.
Damn that vet, who kept pumping saline into her body, as if it was going out of circulation. The last words Pepsi heard was N sobbing and S consoling her.
N and Pepsi have spent so many evenings on the couch together, N watching TV, checking for ticks, reading a magazine (yes, all at the same time), and Pepsi dreaming of chocolate and chips. N would try every trick to eat chocolates slyly, to avoid Pepsi, she with her tongue, saliva and eyes popping out of her face at the mere mention of food. N’s stock answer, “This will damage your kidneys”. And Pepsi’s views: “I don’t get it, they named me Pepsi…. The very drink I was denied because it would–yes, you got it right–damage my kidneys.”
Talking about N, have you heard her sing? It’s like standing in harsh summer sun with stones pelting down. Pepsi’s deafness in later years could solely be attributed to that, she couldn’t even hear the doorbell. And it kind of heightened her sense of smell (of food, mostly). She loved chicken liver, peas, ice cream, egg yolk (she would spit out the white. Cholesterol be damned), the list is endless.
Pepsi spent the last day going into each and every room in the house in her drowsy state, as if saying goodbye. BTW, N has kept Pepsi’s collar belt, it hangs from a hook behind the door. Humans, they say, find it hard to let go. And Pepsi, she lives for now, in memories.
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