The second part of the end

He knew his body and how it stirred with the itch, even if it didn’t move. He could no longer see Teresa. He knew her too. He understood her. And that weight, the weight of his body, which he knew so well, began to sink into the table on which he was lying. Someone was squeezing it from above, loosely. Someone was wringing it out, without touching it. He knew it. Little by little he was melting, but he was also still there. “I don’t feel anymore” – he thought – “I’m just unraveling”.

The first thing that came back was his tummy. “Odd, considering the right paw was the first to disappear”. He wasn’t hungry, he noted, nor thirsty. His tongue was rough as always. He had all his teeth again, like when he was young, and his paws held him without fatigue. His paws, shit, he didn’t even notice the moment they came back. “So I have a tail” – he thought turning to the left, looking unsurprised at that leafy fifth limb. It seemed the gray color shone even brighter in this place.

Where? What was he looking at in that moment? He thought he was in Teresa’s room because everything was white, but then he noticed that everything just seemed to be so bright, like when you open your eyes in the morning. It was shining because of the spaciousness, because of the vastness. Or so he thought. He blinked and clearly noticed that now everything was cloudy, that some smoke was moving everywhere. “I’m going crazy” – he thought- “like the neighbor who chases imaginary flies“.

Hadn’t he just stopped feeling everything? Wasn’t he with Teresa, in the living/dining room of the apartment waiting for someone to arrive? He decided to look for her, to look for the table. Maybe that would stop her from crying. But why was she crying? Why couldn’t he remember?

He walked very slowly; he couldn’t see where exactly he was putting each paw. That made him nervous. He knew the apartment by heart, every nook and cranny, every texture, and what he was now stepping on was new. He didn’t like it at all. It was like walking on the bed all the time, but without Teresa’s feet to hunt and bite while she slept. He knew he didn’t have to, but watching her jump up and down in the middle of the night was so much fun.

Something moved next to him, he could tell by the smoke. Odd that he couldn’t smell it. Although now that he thought about it, it smelled like milk. Not the milk Teresa sometimes poured into a cup. He licked his whiskers and for a second felt his mother’s nipple on his snout and with it, the milk passed into his body, warm and delicious. “It’s a memory” – he told himself – “I’m here, and it happened a long time ago”.