This is one of two photos we have of orange Julius -- to remember him by. He quietly passed away in the early morning of 2011 March 30, Wednesday. He did not even get to feel the warmth of another sunrise. He was buried near the mango tree, joining other kittens that also were not given the chance to grow and frolic in our hearts. He was with us for a measly two weeks, yet his death stings like hell. It almost makes me believe in souls and heaven, so he will have a place to go, where no ill star can touch him anymore.
We don't know why he died. One day he is calling for his adoptive mother, Tabby, for milk, for warmth, for licks of affection, playing with Tabby's five kids, his squeaky delight filling the house; then on Wednesday he is gone. Just like that, he's gone. For ever.
At my age I have gone through a lot, but I am still bewildered by the death of the innocents. I understand how powerless we are against the force of nature. No amount of petition or prayers can stay the execution of fate, no tears of pity or shouts of rage are considered. Such is our world.
Let me put on record Julius' existence: On 2011 March 17, before noon, Julius, thin, dirty and hungry, was seen crawling near the street where Leena was waiting for a ride to work. So Leena phones home and Joy went to get Julius home, where he was given a bath in warm water. Two other mother cats were approached to see if they will give Julius their life-saving milk. No. We understand the No of nature. So, it's obviously Tabby again, who we were trying to spare from feeding another kitten with her present brood of five. Any kitten is Tabby's kitten, and acceptance was immediate and unquestioned.
For the next few days I would be startled from my reading by a sharp squeals from Julius. Joy said Tabby's kids were wrestling again, including Julius in their play.
"So why the loud meows?" I asked.
"Jinujudo siya ng mga anak ni Tabby, gustong-gusto naman."
Squeals, thuds, crashes (sometimes resulting in broken glass and vases) and noises caused by pets you love do not distract me (whom slight rustles are irritants) from reading or writing. Even old age accepts new facts of life. I can easily accept death now, after so many colleagues and a few friends have preceded me. What I cannot learn to accept is the death of young kittens.
I quote from Leena's blog -- Tears for a kitten, http://www.catlovertalaga.com/2010/08/sometimes-i-wanna-get-my-hand-on-god.html -- "Sometimes what tears our hearts is not the terrible thing that happens to us, but to the ones we deeply care for."
I have buried many pets, too, some old, some young. I can never get used to the heartbreak. Even now, when people ask about this rabbit or that puppy or that kitten or that chicken, I cry.
Orange Julius. What a silly clever perfect name! It made me smile. Hugs to you, Tito W!
Thanks, Frances. I guess age cannot toughen us up against lost pups and kittens. Bunnies too, huh.
Take care, and high fives to Vito and Vince.
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