
We had some cats growing up.
Not some obscene amount that would mark us as cat lovers or ‘cat people’ but just as a general rule there would be two always meowing about. Looking for food. Which I don't think they ever really liked being our cats cause we couldn't afford the wet cat food that tasted like fish ice cream or anything I can imagine a cat would like like that. The way we gave them wet cat food was to take regular boring crunchy cat nuggets and soak them in water.
So we had one who was named bear or tiger and it didn't look like a bear or tiger in particular, but you kinda give cats names that fit what you wanted them to look like. So we had a black tiger. Or a striped grey bear. For the purposes of this story I am going to say the cat was Tiger. So...tiger.
We had tiger a long time. Maybe three years? Enough to pump out about another 20 bastard kittens over the course of her life.
We had a central unit. But it didn't get a whole lot of play. We'd just use window fans and attic fans and hope for a breeze. Now I realize how miserable it was. As a kid you don't know what humidity is. You don't realize your sheets are wet when you go to bed. You just close eyes and dream of Nintendo. And the attic fan. One word: economic. Turn on an attic fan for 2 minutes. Open all the windows on the bottom floor. Witness miracle.
But the AC would only get turned on at nights, for a minute, usually as mom was out bartending in Huntsville. That was her job. She couldn't afford to turn on the AC. But sometimes, like giving a treat to the cats of wet cat food, I'd turn on the AC for 15 minutes. And my sister and I would sit right by the vent. And feel the air that we couldn't afford.
About this time, tiger began to cry under the house. Which she did when she was in heat. She was hot a lot of the time. I'd crawled up under the house, a number of times, and called her name. Trying to get her to come out. I figured she would when she got tired of being in heat and crying and wanted some dry cat food soaked in water.
For a week or so, she cried. Her cries became less forced and quieter. We thought she 'd cooled off, and came out from under the house. We'd not seen her, but that was typical of the kinds of cats we kept around our house.
A week and a half later, I turned on the AC for a few minutes. It smelled funny. I turned it off.
We still hadn't seen tiger.
Another week. It's too hot to not turn on the AC. I turn it on. The smell of death comes into the house. All over. Central death processing unit.
My 15 year old brain puts it together.
She'd not been in heat. She'd found a hole in the cool ducts. And died. Right under my feet.