Putting Down the Cat.

The assistant holds her on the table, 
the fur hanging limp from her tiny skeleton,
and the veterinarian raises the needle of fluid
which will put the line through her ninth life.

"Painless," he reassures me, "like counting
backwards from a hundred," but I want to tell him
that our poor cat cannot count at all,
much less to a hundred, much less backwards.

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“Painless he reassures me, like counting backwards.”

 In my opinion this lines holds extreme power because it’s the line that confirms the cat is actually getting killed and not just “put down” as many people would’ve interpreted it.

The brief stanzaic pause is filled with meaning. To me, it shows that even Billy Collins could not adequately expressed what he felt during that moment of hesitation as the doctor slowly injects the cat. That moment filled with questions, questions on whether the doctor was right, was it really not painful? Or how would he know? He’s never experienced it.

The poem also lead the reader into asking themselves questions on why the cat had to be put down. Was it a sickness? Was it age? Was it even the owner’s decision or just the vet’s that claimed he knew what the cat felt?

“The veterinarian raises the needle of fluid.”

In that moment, with the needle raised our heart leaps forward hoping someone would stop him, but deep down knowing there’s nothing you can do. He’ll do it anyway; he’ll inject the cat and they’ll all watch it die. The assistant, the vet, the owner.. No one will stop him. No one can.

Dina Diallo