Curiousity doesn't kill the cat
You know, i had always wanted my own pet. But i have parents who are seemingly against having another family member joining the 5 of us in our already-cramped can of sardines. You know lah, old people don't usually fancy these kinda of things - they are more pragmatic of life and have a practical mindset. So when i was a little kid, every suggestion that we should add a cuddly youngling into our homely abode produces vehement protests that came furiously at us like a fire engine - we got turned down flat. In. Our. Face. Sad.
There was this once when me and my neighbour found this newborn kitten at the void deck, looking helpless, weak, vulnerable. It's eyes haven't even opened yet, so it was blind. It could barely stand, let alone walk. Leave him there and he might just be devoured by hungry lurking beasts downstairs, so we had no choice but to do the only logical thing there is at that pressing situation. I brought him home, hidden behind my back, hoping my mom, being the blur person she always has been, wouldn't notice.
So the youngest smuggler in the world had successfully smuggled a living, breathing, furry four-legged, meat-eating furball into his room. Illegally. (Duh, of course smuggling is illegal)
The next one week or so was spent doubling up as a 'mommy' and a babysitter for the unexpected gift from the stork. It was an indescribable joy when i first witnessed it gaining its sight for the very first time. Then came the euphoria when it began to stand on its own four legs, which admittedly weren't any good for doing what they were supposed to do, being weak and all. With milk came strengthening of the limbs, and soon he began prancing around like any mischievous kid would. The saying goes, ' Curiousity kills the cat', and how right it was. He was as inquisitive as any hyperactive kid i had witnessed - He would nibble at wires that laid strewn on the floor, scratch away at my mattress sheet, pounce on the little toy soldiers like he's a maneater, torture any insect that came strolling along, jump around as if he's beckoning me to play with it, largen his eyes whenever i make cluck sounds.
It was not easy harboring a fugitive inside your room when you are still a kid yourself. Furthermore he would always meow whenever my attention was needed. So what i did was to turn on the radio as loud as possible, hoping to drown the soft mewing coming out of my room. Somehow that naive plan worked like a charm, for never once did my parents found out about that illegal immigrant.
He had his bratty moments too. To relieve his shit and all, he will always go to this corner under my bed and do his business. So imagine the work i had to do all the time, mopping and cleaning up his potty, and at the same time keeping all these invisible from my blur parents. Everytime he did that, i would spank him like any parent would do. Instill discipline i must. But there must be some miscommunication, for time to time a stinking whiff of shit will reach my poor nose while i'm sleeping. I even tried putting newspaper on that area, hoping there can be less of a hassle during cleaning up. The effort was to no avail - he will always dig away the newspapers and lay his waste on my cold hard tiles. Oh well i give up.
There must be a different time zone between us humans and cats, as he is always napping during the day (in the box which i had made his home) and moving around in the night like a prowling predator. So who's the prey when this this feline friend of mine goes bloodlust? Me me me me me. I would be sleeping, and that energizer would be running about, tumbling over everything that was in the room. At times he would mount onto my legs, and sometimes my face, and scratch away like nobody's business except mine. Obviously i couldn't sleep at first, but as days (and nights) went by my skin grew thicker and i got used to his claw-sharpening.
The inevitable had to happen. One day it lurked out of my room, and greeted my father with a timid meow. My father returned him a shock look followed by a shriek so horrifying on the ear that you would thought he had witnessed the most perverse crime in his life. What followed suit was - you've guessed it - vehement protests. My pleas were in vain, and soon, he had to be taken home by my friend.
Weeks later, he died.
Then today i was taking photos and this cat came to my legs as if there's a magnet on its neck and its being attracted to my legs. Although looking nothing like him, i saw the same tinge of loneliness in its eyes, reminiscent of his, beckoning for some love.
To some of them, love means scratching their neck and lower jaw and forehead.
Oh well.
posted by OlderButWiser @ 00:09
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