It was the quickest action and the slowest action. The feeling of getting shot. It happens so quickly and suddenly. His eyes close and tumbles to the ground. Motionless. He sees a bright light and it's a blur. There is commotion. Shouts. Screams. The next thing he knows, he’s on a bed. Drifting away from reality. But he’s brought back with panic. “Are you okay?” they repeatedly ask, “Do you know where your family is? Where do you live? Who are you?” He shows no response with his body not in his control. He barely opens his eyes. There is worry in the room and present. Everyone rushes left and right with the announcer going crazy about code red. Doctors doing all kinds of tests and using devices to keep him along. Yet, they do nothing. He feels nothing.

Throughout all the chaos, one small figure stands out. It is a cat. The cat calmly walks. The cat is a calico with fur everywhere. The cat seems to have always lived there, through the commotion and cries. The cat gets on to the foldable bed and comes next to him. He feels the warmth of the feline. The cat seems to be supporting him to his last moments. He slowly closes his eyelids. He goes through his final trance. He sees his friends and family and is grateful. He doesn’t want to think about the missteps. The failures and hardships. The cat purrs. He shuts down his body. He sees nothing, feels nothing, hears nothing, smells nothing, tastes nothing. Pure darkness. In his lifeless form, he sees a glimmer in the distance. He thinks to himself, “One more time.”