He had a degenerative disease that was making his muscles useless. He was disabled and his physical condition was deteriorating. At some point he would be completely helpless. Tony wracked his brain, but he couldn’t think of a way to put a positive spin on that. He tried to keep Frank talking. There were long periods of silence, during which Shahla’s support helped Tony remain calm. The phone rang a number of times, but she ignored it.

An hour into the call, Frank said, “This isn’t going anywhere. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Don’t hang up,” Tony blurted. “I have something more to say.”

Silence.

Tony talked desperately, repeating things he had said, previously, while expecting to hear the click of a hang up at any moment. He had to get some agreement from Frank. Frank had said several times that he didn’t have any relatives or close friends, but he had mentioned that he did have a cat. Tony decided to focus on the cat.

“What kind of a cat do you have?” Tony asked.

“Alley cat. He kept hanging around the neighborhood. The neighbors fed him. I never did. But he came in the house one day when I left the screen door open. I couldn’t boot him out.”

“How long have you had him?”

“Five years.”

“What would he do without you?”

“Go back to being an alley cat.”

“But he obviously likes you, Frank. You can’t desert him.”

It was a thin thread, one that might break at any moment. Tony kept Frank talking about his cat. Little by little, Frank agreed that he should stay alive because of his cat. Or did he? Part of the time he seemed to be ready to disavow any agreement.

Before he hung up, Tony said, “Please call us tomorrow and tell us how you’re doing,” knowing that Frank might never make the call.

As he put down the receiver, Tony realized that his shirt was soaked. He glanced at the clock. It was almost ten. He had been on the call for two hours. He said, “I’m not sure I convinced him.”