Last night while I was making myself dinner, I heard something unusual so I went to check where had the sound come from. It was a familiar sound. Something hopped down the veranda. I looked up and saw a pair of white feet walked by the translucent plastic roof. I thought ah another wandering cat. Didn't give much thought about it and went back to eat my dinner.
This morning my sister Diana called me to say one of our cats had died last night because of kidney failure. He was a cat with triangle face, clown eyes and instead of meowing, he talked in a long broken sentence. Always looked like a piece of raggedly used white towel no matter how many times was cleaned and groomed him. Clumsiness and boldness made us yell at him constantly. His appearance attracted little affectionate patting from human. Comparing with the rest of cats at home, he was the odd one out.
But what a cat.
Escaped death twice. He was abandoned by his mother and left him in the dividing section of a busy road. Hunger and eye infection almost blinded him. Later on another deadly virus almost succeed in taking his other eight lives. He grew up in the flat with us. Long before any other cats discovered the new found territory, he hopped from veranda to veranda with grace. It was the cumbersome furniture and stuff around the house made him clumsy. Until one day, he could no longer resist something wild calling from his ancient linage. He jumped and left us. We used to joke he went back packing but the truth was we all feared he might not survive the tough world of wild cats, bully dogs and human jungle.
6 months later, he found my dad at the parking lot. He was brought back and lay comfortably on the sofa as if he had never left. But I've known something had changed. Some sort of experience, loss of innocent and street cunning were tucked away in his eyes. We moved all the cats to my parents' since the space in this flat was barely enough for human. Strangely, there are plenty of wild things and new territory to be conquered outside my parents' place. But he rarely ventured outside, instead he stayed in and peered out the window. Perhaps he felt he had done it all?
Like all true wild creatures, dieing is private and should be kept away. Diana told me he maneuvered himself with the last ounce of his strength, crawled out off the house in search of a spot. He was retrieved couple times. Mom cooed him and said "you have proved yourself, now stay home and let us take us take care of you." He agreed. He died on the sofa in his familiar box and surrounded by a couple humans that he could tolerate. I don't know how he felt about us humans who had shared a communal life with him. But I do feel that he is some cat that I will remember for quite a while.
