Remember the little one that we plucked right off the middle of a busy residential road? The little kitten we rescued on Father’s Day?
Yes, the very same.
Just to be clear on what’s been going on, the little one has passed away. She has gone to join her Maker in cat heaven (and maybe to join my bunny who died last year and become her new friend so she – the bunny – will stop chewing network cables and cushion coverings).
When my cousin contacted me yesterday, I felt this overwhelming sensation in my throat. As if there was something stuck in my windpipes that made it hard to breathe. I also thought I felt my heart stop beating too. I thought, “Wow, I wasn’t even the kitten’s owner, nor did I spend my weekend looking after her, nor did I wake up every morning to send the kitten to the vet (everything that my cousin did), yet I felt like crap.“
The vet had reported that the wound on her leg had healed pretty well. It was an amazing recovery. But my cousin and her husband had suspected that it was something more internal than it was external. Turned out she had the flu, some eye infection, some blood infection, and the straw that broke the camel’s back was the apparent brain parasite that she could have possibly inherited from her mother. That said, the mother cat was nowhere to be found when we rescued her. There was no way one could do a blood transfusion for an animal that was still so young (earlier clinic reports stated she was about six weeks old).
The question that hung over our heads was whether we should just end her suffering. I left the decision with my cousin since she took over after we rescued her. Thankfully, we didn’t have to make any decision at all when the vet called to say that she has passed on. So, at least the kitten didn’t have to suffer anymore.
My cousin picked her up from the vet’s and brought her back to her home. We got together last night to bury her in the front yard of my cousin’s home. We took one last look at her, that peaceful and painless expression on her little face. Wrapped in her favourite blankie, and the last spade-fuls of earth to cover her up.
What little good memories I had of her were the mess she made when she had her first proper meal the night I brought her over to my cousin’s place. Wet chicken mush. She ate as though she had been starved for days! Which, she probably could have been too. The water bowl that was prepared for her, she partially fell in and left little wet paw prints all over the floor. And the colourful cube box that she grew to love for that little short time on Earth, which she also fell asleep in.
There are some things in life that we can change, and then there are some things that we can’t. Could things have been different if we could change them? Perhaps some losses were meant to happen. In this case, it was bound to happen. She’s gone. At least she won’t be suffering anymore. But I still feel sad.