Wednesday, August 13, 2014

A cat's funeral is something rare

I'm sitting here in my room remembering and reminiscing about the past. The moment where my house cat, Wicky, was so active and adorable. He was a people person and he acted our house like his own. Going in and out as he pleased. But, Wicky is not here no more. He's gone. Forever gone and buried in the his own grave that my brother had made (I assume he's the one that's in charge of the funeral arrangement). 

Wicky first came to our house somewhere around this year or last year, if I'm not mistaken. We thought he was the neighbour's cat. So, my dad gave him back to our neighbour who's living across the road. He was charming and apparently not afraid of people. He even approached us first. Then, one day he decided to just stay and not leaving. My family didn't mind though. 

My sister, Alang, she's very into cats (well, not to say REALLY but I can see it inside of her) and she took quite a good care of him. There's this one time he got injured and she put a plaster to cover his wound. Of course it didn't work because it's not sticking to the skin but to the fur. So, my dad helped my sister to put a bit medicine to the wounded cat. Even my dad is also a cat person (I can also see that inside of him). 

Then, he made love to Mary (the other house cat) and she gave birth to two adorable kittens named Ricky and Micky. Micky looks exactly likes her father. White base fur with a bit of black colour on it. Not long after that, the kittens got eyes infection and I guess he got that too. He sleeps almost all day and not being active like he use to (sneaking in to the house and round around as he please). I'm assuming he's very sick and I can feel that he's going away. Like he's gonna die. But I deny that feeling and said to myself no, not that. Maybe he's just very ill. Just that.

This afternoon, I woke up and went straight to see where my mother was. She's at the back of the house feeding the cats and he was there to, I assume. Then, I bathed and did some laundry, hanging the clothes outside and I saw him in the drain. He's kinda relaxing, like playing hide and seek. And that was the last time I saw him. 

Late that evening, my little cousin, Abby, came back from school and she was shouting at the back of our house. I got out of the room and went to see what's wrong. She came in through the back door and said "Wicky is dead!". I was like shock to death. He was fine just before. My mom came too and was a bit shock (but not too much) and saying he was fine while she was feeding him. "Are you sure he's not just sleeping?". "No, he's dead! He's not moving at all and there are flies surrounding him" said my little cousin. 

I got out from the house to check up on Wicky and what little cousin's saying was true. All true with no lie. There he is. Laying on the grass as if like he was sleeping (but in a weird posture) and I just couldn't believe it. I didn't cry though because we were never that close. He's just a cat I know and I care a bit about him. I ran to my sister and tell her the news. I don't know what she felt. After that, I just shut myself in my room. 

I was thinking to pet a cat, my very own cat but when stuff like this happen . . I don't know how to handle it. So, I decided to just find any adopt pet shop and just adopt one. I just don't want to have to feel to lose a cat in death tragedies. Its just the worst feeling ever. It's the same kinda of feeling when you lost the one you loved and can never see them again. It's sad.

This is him. When I look at this, I realize something. He's like a panda, a panda cat. I like panda and I like him. Farewell, Wicky. You will be miss. I will miss you, panda cat. 

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