Miss Lilly and Anton took their meals properly in her dining room each evening in the small community of Round Rock, Tennessee. They were constant companions and went for long walks together in the woods behind the football field. They were the best of friends.

There had been others before him, but Anton was clearly her favorite. He’d been named for the Russian author because as a kitten he’d wheezed and coughed as if he too had consumption. All of her previous pets had been named for famous people: presidents, authors, singers, and actors. There’d been a nervous, fidgety cat known as Elvis Presley, a neurotic Cocker Spaniel she’d called Ernest Hemingway, and a gold fish affectionately dubbed Jaques Cousteau.

She’d never married and continued to live in her father’s house much as she had when he was alive. A two-story frame with peeling paint, it sat nestled in a jungle of overgrown hackberry trees at the foot of Battery Hill. The floors in the old house sagged in several places where swarms of termites made their home. The roof of the back porch tilted precariously to one side, held in place by a lone two-by-four put there years earlier as a temporary measure by her father.

In her early years she’d been a school teacher. English, history, and Latin had been her subjects. Every student who’d graduated high school had learned to conjugate their Latin verbs from Miss Lilly.

After her retirement, which she’d fought with much determination, she took the position of volunteer librarian at the small county library. It was a natural extension of her previous career and she enjoyed her customers, as she called the individuals who checked out books. Most, if not all, had been her students. 

Miss Lilly and Anton slept together, she under a light comforter and Anton curled in a black ball at the foot of the bed. Their day began promptly at 6:00 A.M., Anton’s choice not hers. First he’d roll onto his back and stretch his legs. Then, as if stalking prey, he’d walk across the soft comforter to sit beside his friend. He’d press his cold nose into her cheek and, if this didn’t awaken her, he’d place a padded paw against her neck and rhythmically knead the delicate skin beneath her ear lobe.

She would take his head in both hands and rub his nose back and forth across hers. “Anton, my love, what would I ever do without you?”

There was a morning ritual that followed. Miss Lilly would get out of bed, put on her robe and fuzzy slippers, and stroll across the hall to the bathroom. She kept a small dish on the floor next to the sink. She’d pick it up and fill it with fresh water. While she washed her face, Anton would sit beside her and drink his full. Later, as she dressed, he’d lie stretched out on the window box, basking in the first rays of sunlight.

As she walked down the hall and then the stairs, Anton would weave in and out between her feet, making it difficult for her to maneuver. She’d shoo him away, but within seconds he’d be back.

Miss Lilly’s kitchen had no dishwasher, microwave, or electric mixer. The white porcelain sink was cracked and stained. Linoleum covered the counter top and the floor was unpolished hardwood. A coal stove with its Dutch oven sat to one side of the large room. A small General Electric refrigerator with its cooling coils on top sat next to the stove. A bare 100-watt light bulb hung from the ceiling.

She’d remove a lump of coal from the pail and throw it into the smoldering ashes she’d banked the evening before. As soon as the stove was hot, she’d fill the kettle with water. While waiting for it to boil, she’d open the refrigerator, mumbling to herself, “Where is that can of tuna? I know I put it here yesterday.”

As she shifted the refrigerator’s contents from one shelf to another, Anton rubbed his face and shoulder against her leg, purring softly. She located the can of Starkist and closed the door. Removing the aluminum foil she’d placed on the can the day before, she scrapped the contents into Anton’s dish. She’d sit at the kitchen table drinking her tea with Anton at her feet eating his tuna, his tail moving slowly back and forth across the hardwood floor.

Around 10:00, Anton and Miss Lilly would walk the four blocks to town. Anton usually strode ahead of her, tail high, proud and unafraid. Every dog and cat along the way knew to give Anton free passage. Most had felt the bite of his sharp claws.

The small library building sat behind the courthouse. The bookmobile from the regional library in Cookeville brought a fresh supply of books each Monday. Miss Lilly was locked in an ideological battle with many of her customers. They’d come in asking for Zane Gray or Agatha Christie and leave with Charles Dickens, Faulkner, or Hemingway.

As she puttered around the stacks cataloging books, Anton would lie on the windowsill soaking up the warmth of the morning sun. Occasionally, Miss Lilly would wander by and rub his ears. He’d stir, look up with half opened eyes and purr loudly as he arched his back. Then he’d stretch his front legs, the claws of his paws extending and retracting rhythmically.

In early summer, Miss Lilly noticed some vaginal bleeding. At first, it’d been spotty, but within a few days was profuse. She’d made an appointment with her family physician, Wally Johnson. She trusted Sam because he’d been an excellent Latin student and had done well in Mr. Goforth’s biology class.

On the morning of her appointment, she and Anton walked the ten blocks to Dr. Johnson's office next to the hospital.

As she approached the reception desk, Reba, said, “Good morning, Miss Lilly.”

“Is Dr. Wally on time?” Miss Lilly asked.

Reba laughed. “He’s only running an hour late today.”

“That’s why I always bring a book.”

Miss Lilly took a seat next to the front door, Anton curled at her feet. She removed a dog-eared paperback from her canvas bag and opened it to a turned-down page. Across the room, a young mother wiped an ugly accumulation of mucus from the nose of her small son with one hand and rocked the stroller of her crying infant with the other. She tossed her head to get strands of long hair from her eyes, took a deep breath, and slumped back in her chair.

Liz Crouch, Dr. Wally’s nurse, appeared at the door and said, “Come on back, Miss Lilly, Dr. Wally's ready to see you.”

Miss Lilly replaced her book, poked Anton with the tip of her shoe, and walked toward the door. Anton was reluctant to leave his warm spot on the carpet, but when he saw his mistress walk away, he bolted after her.

“I’ll put you in exam room three. Dr. Wally will be with you in a minute,” Liz said.

“How’s the new baby?”

“Great. She’s eighteen months old now.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“I’ll show you one on your way out. I see Anton is doing well.”

 “Yes, the fat thing is eating me out of house and home. He’ll only eat Starkist tuna. Can you imagine?”

Liz left and Miss Lilly took a chair next to the exam table and started reading. Several minutes later, the doctor entered the room. He was in his early thirties with sandy hair and royal blue eyes. Had he not had such a stellar academic record, Miss Lilly would have thought him much too young and inexperienced to be her doctor.

“Good morning, Miss Lilly. I see Anton is still accompanying you everywhere you go. You realize, of course, I don’t usually allow cats into my examination rooms.”

“Where I go, Anton goes. You have to accept my little idiosyncrasies.”

“Haven’t I always?”

“That’s why you’re my doctor.”

The doctor sat at his small desk and leafed through her chart, looking for the last entry.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve been in,” he said.

“I don’t go to the doctor when I’m well. I don’t go looking for trouble.”

“So, what’s the problem today?”

“I’ve been bleeding off and on rather profusely for a few days.”

“At stool?”

“Vagina.”

“How long?”

“Like I said, a few days.”

“Any cramping? Fainting spells?”

“No.”

The doctor rolled his chair to hers and took a blood pressure cuff off the wall. Wrapping it around her arm, he inflated it.

“Your pressure’s fine,” he said. “I’ll need to do a pelvic exam. Sit on the table and I’ll get Liz.”

The indignity of the pelvic was surpassed only by the uncomfortable cold sheets and the pain of the doctor’s lubricated hand poking at her womb. He pushed on her lower abdomen with his left hand as he felt with his right.

The doctor turned to his nurse and said, “I’ll need a speculum and biopsy forceps.” Then to his patient, “This might be a little uncomfortable. Try to relax.”

What an absurd comment, Miss Lilly thought.

The biopsy was painful, causing her to inhale deeply and bite her lower lip.

Afterwards, Dr. Johnson handed the specimen to his nurse and said, “I’ll need a SMA 12 and a chest X-ray.”

Liz drew blood from the older woman’s arm and escorted her to the X-ray room where the technician made the films. When finished, she escorted Miss Lilly and Anton to the doctor’s private office.

Minutes passed. At last Dr. Wally entered the room and sat at his massive walnut desk. A framed picture of his wife and two young daughters faced Miss Lilly. Patients’ charts littered the top of the desk and he pushed a few aside to make room for his coffee mug.

“Would you care for coffee, Miss Lilly?”

“Please get to the point, Wally,” she said.

“It’ll take a few days to get the biopsy back, but from my examination I can say there’s a very good chance we’re dealing with a malignancy. A cancer.”

“Don’t patronize me. I know what the term malignancy means. It’s derived from the Latin root mal meaning ‘bad.’”

Dr. Wally’s face flushed. He took a sip of coffee and said, “I’m afraid there’s already been some spread to the lungs and liver. The prognosis isn’t good.”

“How long have I got?”

“There’s no way to know for sure.”

“Treatment?”

“Things are too far along for surgery. Chemo and X-ray therapy are possibilities.”

“Would they cure me or just prolong my life?”

The doctor tapped his pen on the desk. “I’d like to refer you to an oncologist for a second opinion.”

“You’re my doctor.”

“I’m not qualified to treat you.”

“You’re evading my question. Will treatment cure me?”

“It would be palliative at best.”

“And I’d experience nausea and lose my hair?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s out of the question.”

“That has to be your decision, Miss Lilly.”

“When will you have the report back?”

“I should have it by Friday. I’ll call you with the result. I did cauterize the bleeder, so you shouldn’t experience any further hemorrhage.”

“Thank you, Wally. Come along, Anton.”

As the old lady passed the nurses’ station, Liz said, “Here’s the picture of my baby.”

Miss Lilly stopped and took it from Liz and said, “She’s beautiful. Looks just like you at that age.”

“If you need anything, Miss Lilly, please call me.”

“Dr. Sam didn’t have very good news for me. I suspect I’ll need your help eventually.”

“You know I’ll be there for you,” the nurse said.

Miss Lilly and Anton’s routine changed little in the month that followed, but by the end of summer, their trips to the library had dropped to once a week. One morning, Miss Lilly noticed a sharp pain in her right hip radiating down her leg. In my back now, she thought. When she stepped onto the bathroom scales, she’d lost thirty pounds.

Later that day, she rummaged through her downstairs closet looking for one of her father’s walking canes. She picked his favorite, ebony with a sterling tip and handle. For a week or so after the first pain she continued to climb the stairs.

In two weeks, they no longer went to the library and Miss Lilly and her groceries were delivered. It was one of the advantages of living in a small community. Anton stayed by her side, her constant companion.

The leaves turned, fell, and were burned by a neighbor’s teenager. The temperature dropped as the days shortened and a dull overcast set in that lasted for days, followed by a slow, monotonous drizzle.

Miss Lilly could no longer manage the spiral staircase and was confined to her bedroom. Liz prepared one hot meal every day, left snacks for her, and arranged for a case of Starkist tuna to be delivered for Anton. The act of kneeling to fill his dish soon became too painful for Miss Lilly, so she placed it on top of her dresser. He would bound onto the chair next to the dresser and then to the top.

When the pain came, it took her breath. It felt as if a knife was being jabbed between her ribs. One afternoon when Liz delivered her hot meal, Miss Lilly asked, “Do you think Dr. Wally could give me something for pain?”

“I’ll bring something tonight.”

The nurse returned that evening with a bottle of Demerol tablets. “Take two at a time if one doesn’t work. You can take one every four hours.”

“Thank you, dear. You’ve been so kind to me. I worry that your husband and daughter need you. I could hire someone.”

“Please don’t say that. You don’t need to hire anyone.”

“I really don’t want to go to a nursing home. They’d never let me keep Anton. I’d lose my last vestige of independence.”

 “You’re not going to a nursing home. We’ll find a way to take care of Anton. Please don’t worry.”

“You’ll find a home for Anton?”

“Yes. Please relax now and rest. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Over the next week Miss Lilly lost more weight and spent more time in bed. At first she read, but soon even this activity was too much for her. The Demerol tablets did lessen the pain, but they sedated her and she slept a good part of each day, as did Anton, curled in a black ball at the foot of the bed.

One afternoon when Liz walked into the bedroom the curtains were drawn and the room dark. Miss Lilly sat upright in bed with pillows supporting her staring into the emptiness surrounding her.

“Are you okay?” Liz asked.

When the old woman didn’t respond, Liz thought she might be dead.

“Miss Lilly?”

“Anton is dead.”

“I’m so sorry. When?”

“Sometime in the night. I got up to use the bathroom and he didn’t follow me as he usually did. I came back to the bed to check on him and when I touched him he didn’t move.”

“Had he been ill? He looked fine yesterday.”

“Anton was fifteen. I think he realized my time was near. Animals have a sense about these things.”

Liz sat on the edge of the bed and took Miss Lilly’s hand in hers.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“I curled him up so he looked like he was sleeping and put him in the freezer.”

“How did you get downstairs?”

“I swallowed three pain pills. It took a long time and it hurt. But I did it for Anton.”

“Lean forward a little so I can fluff your pillows.”

“Thank you, dear. You’re so sweet to me. You’re all I have now. Could you do one more thing for me when you leave?”

“Of course.”

“I’m worried that Anton will get freezer burn. Could you wrap him in some aluminum foil on your way out?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Anton.”

For the next few days each time Liz came to the house she found Miss Lilly sitting propped up in bed, a shawl over her shoulders and the room darkened. She hadn’t taken a pain pill since Anton’s death. Her face was drawn and pale and her eyes dull. She hadn’t eaten any of the snacks Liz had left on her bedside table.

The following Saturday when Liz entered the bedroom she knew Miss Lilly’s time was near. The old woman was down to ninety-five pounds and pale, transparent skin hung from her high cheekbones like curtains. Her breathing was shallow and labored. She wasn’t sitting up as usual.

“Is that you, Liz?”

“Yes, I’m right here.”

“Where’s Anton?”

“I left him in the kitchen eating tuna from his dish. Would you like for me to get him?”

“Yes. I’m really tired tonight and I’d like to get him settled before I go to sleep.”

Liz went to the kitchen, took Anton out of the freezer, and removed the aluminum foil. He looked as if he was sleeping, for Miss Lilly had arranged him in a natural pose. She carried him up the spiral staircase to the bed room and placed him at the foot of the bed where he usually slept.

“Is that Anton?”

“He’s right here, just like always.”

Miss Lilly rose up on one elbow and gazed at the foot of the bed. Anton looked as he always had when she retired for the evening, asleep. She balanced herself precariously for a few moments and smiled for the first time in weeks.

“Such a good friend you are, Anton. I’m going to sleep now, I’m very tired. In the morning, I’ll give you some fresh tuna.”

Anton and Miss Lilly were buried in the same casket.

 

Mike Glasscock