A Kitty Letter

You might have forgotten, or have no idea at all, about my story when I gave up three of my lovely kittens. It was super hard, super heartbreaking and super... Oh Lord. Well that was supposed to be nothing because, at least, they are kept by someone else, other cat lovers, and they'd go on with their lives. Happily. It will be a different story when my cat,

Died.

It happened once. A sibling to those three I gave away. A kitten who was born super skinny, not really into eating, and after two weeks or so, passed away. I was devastated already, even though it was a really short meeting with him. This time, it's even harder.

His name is Iger.

This March he was, four months old. His first weeks living in this world were like a flash to me. He spent his time inside the cage, breastfed by his mother for about two months, and just when he began to start walking -which was pretty effort-ful because at first he couldn't walk at all he dragged his rear legs instead!- I had my trip to China.

Returning from Hong Kong, Iger, you turned to a loving brat already. And became my family's dear. Your energy, your super naughty-ness, running here and there, climbed the walls and stuff, we loved you so much. Despite your habit of destroying things and eating cooking oil from the pan.

By that time, the flood attacked Jakarta. Water came into our house it forced us to sleep at the upper story all together. Since you were so vulnerable, Iger, we had you slept with us inside the bedroom. On the same bed with me--no, on my pillow. It was really calming to hear you purred, sleeping peacefully next to me.

Since I was unemployed, I spent so much time with him. Bonding, doing stuff together. I know that meal time has always been his favorite. One second after I poured snacks over his small bowl, he would dump all his kitten face over the food and ate like a pig. Then he'd sleep in front of the front door, waiting for somebody to open it so he could swoosh out of the house. Doing nothing on the front yard just, observing the street.

I remembered when you fell into the ditch. All wet and stink. My brother bathed you and when I returned home to find out that incident, you were all cleaned already. Freshly sent to my room, tired because of what happened. I knew you felt so relaxed after the bath. You slowly fell asleep, smelling nice and tucked away. I was just there, sitting and enjoying how you nodded your tiny head to the floor.

And oh I remembered your first poop. It must've been shocking to you, eh? Having something out of your bottom, out of nowhere. You shouted in panic at the corner of the room oh my God, I giggled so hard remembering that moment. Since after that, you never even once did your 'thing' on the litter box. But we never scolded you, we never got mad at you, because we simply loved you.

But why Iger, you stopped eating several days ago. You kept throwing up, choking and gradually lost your energy. The on-fire Iger we knew, put out. It destroyed me, you know, inside out. It was just so not you. And I didn't like seeing that because somehow I knew, you'd be gone in no time.

And the day came.
Yesterday, you passed away.

It was a major turn down for my whole family. We never expected you to go that soon. Because it happened so fast, with no many cues.

First days after your death, Iger, it was really hard for me. I kept sniffing your smell. Your stinky smell of your dried fur sunbathed. I kept sensing a flash of you in every corner of the house. I kept reminiscing your presence in everything you used to do, you used to play, you used to sleep on.

I hate you, Iger.
For being too precious.
And left just when I love you.

I'm finishing this up now. It sucks to tell stories about your death and my misery that came after. It's better to leave it with the sweetness of having you.

I'm tired of crying