The Last Goodbye

A few years ago, I came across a yellow cat with a bob for a tail wandering the areas around my block. He was somewhat temperamental, and also extremely scared at the time. I tried looking for him because I was interested to see if he was a new stray who had not yet been sterilised, but he didn’t show up so frequently. I came across him twice over the period of a month or so, and on the second time I managed to feed him. He looked fairly well-groomed, actually, and I guessed that his owners had let him go or he had escaped somehow. He also bit me because he was scared.

My mom also managed to feed him once. He was big-sized and ate a lot. He was also very hungry, another sign that he had probably been domesticated prior to this and was struggling to find things to eat.

Eventually he got to trusting us, and we named him Bag Bag. He came to our place and we would feed him.

Later, through the network of cat aunties, we learnt that he had owners who were looking for him. By this time, he had taken to staying outside our door. We didn’t take him in because we didn’t have enough space for him, and it also didn’t feel right taking in someone else’s cat. His owners came for him after a while and we thought that it would be the last we saw of him, which was good in a sense because he hadn’t adapted to living outside and there were also wild dogs.

Then we saw him again. His owners came for him again. Then he came back. His owners too. This cycle went on and on. Sometimes he would show up for a couple of weeks. Sometimes longer. Sometimes his owners would find him the next day. Whatever it was, he always came back.

A few months ago, he stopped showing up completely. We heard from people in the know of it that his owners had made it harder for him to escape. Which was all good, really. We missed him, certainly, but it was better that he had a home.

A couple of weeks ago, he showed up again as my mom was watering the plants. I was outside, and she gave me a call immediately. She told me that he seemed particularly affectionate that day. I sighed because I didn’t want him to have to put up with life outside again. She also said that she tried to feed him but he wasn’t very interested in all of that. Then he was gone, and he didn’t show up the next day either.

Just now, one of my mom’s friends called and said that he had died. Apparently, he finished up a last meal and went to sleep for one final time. He had been ill, it seemed.

I tried to say as little as I could about it, but I couldn’t help thinking that I had missed his last goodbye.

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José Saramago, 1922-2010

José Saramago, whose brilliance was eclipsed only by his compassion, has passed away.[via The Guardian] RIP, sir.

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Louise Bourgeois, 1911-2010

Louise Bourgeois has passed away at the age of 98. [via The New York Times]

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Goodbye, Old Friend

Over the Chinese New Year weekend, I bade goodbye to a friend, an old friend, a beautiful friend. It’s the reason things have been a bit out of order over here. It’s the reason this year has begun on a very strange note.

It’s been difficult, more so for some others than myself, surely, but difficult nonetheless.

I remember when the news hit on Saturday morning, and though we’d all in a way seen it coming, I can’t say that it wasn’t unexpected. I’d woken up that morning and I had done a whole bunch of things before my dad came by with his phone and asked if he was right about his interpretation of a message. He wasn’t, I told him, and just to be sure, he made a call to check; but by that time, it had all descended upon us like dust.

We did our best. In fact, I was fine until this afternoon. It was all extremely unreal, though. Friends, relatives, strangers, all under one banner. And I watched these half-familiar faces, faces from all those years ago. It humbles you to think that so much has happened to you in the time since then, and so much more must have happened to them all. And yet, in spite of this grand divergence, there they all were, there we all were, sitting together in a curious unity, talking about the things that didn’t really matter, and helping each other to move on. And he was there throughout it all, lying there, imbuing the occasion if not with blessings then simply with a purpose.

These are human things. You gather, you huddle, you hold each other because it’s the only thing you know how to do. This is how we live.

Today, I finally wept again. Before it, I made up my mind that I would do whatever I could not to, but of course it didn’t work. There were others who cried too, and some who didn’t, but in all of them you could see an exceptional and yet not uncommon courage. These things overtake us. They challenge us and humble us. They remind us of the little we can do. Yet, these people, they don’t give in. They hang in there. They remember and mourn, but refuse to be broken. It was a message that this shared friend of ours knew well. He didn’t always have the words for it, but if you had just met him, you’d know. You’d know.

Of course he wouldn’t want us to cry, but in a way, I was glad that I did, because through the tears, I saw his smile again.

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