I lost a baby late last night (well not exactly a baby, but an almost 3 year old cat). And its all my fault. We named him Wilkins (after the distilled water) but for some reason my mom kept calling him Twinkle. Over the years we have been continuously debating in the house what name to call him. My sister and I insist on Wilkins. After all there's nothing twinkly about him-- he's a black cat and was so "masungit" that in the three years he was with us, I never had a chance to pet him. But Twinkle or Wilkins was like a dimple-- a deformity that you learn to love or a pimple that never goes away until you learn to live with it. For all his kasungitan, he was extremely loyal.
And his loyalty caused him his life.
I accidentally ran over Twinkle last night. Omigod! He came barging towards my car as I was parking in our garage. He would do it everytime I go home as if welcoming me back. But last night for some reason, he forgot to step aside. He was usually quick with his reflexes but last night he didnt step away. When I felt a bump in the car, I immediately stopped and knew that something was terribly wrong. And true enough our twinkle was down.
I felt so bad that I frantically called my sister who was soundly sleeping at her condo by then. The first words I spoke were, Omigod! I murdered Wilkins.
Wilkins has no breed-- he's not even truly ours. He's one of the neighborhood cats (or pusang kalye) that we sort of adopted by virtue of feeding them. He belongs to the Mandirigma family (because the entire family is full of masungit cats). His mom Patricia was the classic cat diva.. She treated us as if we were her pets and not vice versa. She died after 8 years of being with us-- old age. In her entire stay with us, she only allowed me to pet her once (during a time when she caught a virus and lost all her hair and nearly died). Wilkins was her perfect male counterpart. But lately we noticed that he's becoming a bit sweeter. There was a time (about two weeks ago) that he suddenly touched my leg and walked by it several times. That's the closest thing to a bonding session that we'll ever have.
Wilkins has two siblings-- Hospicia (hospy) and Mozart (Mochie). And one neice (Froda). Along with my baby Oliver, I now have four cats left- along with about 3 other pusacals that sometimes wander to our house to eat.
My mom said siguro his mission on earth is done already. There's also a belief that our pets would take on the bad things that are supposed to happen to us. Sort of like a sacrifice. Still, I would have wanted his life to end in a less violent way.
When I went out of my house this morning, I missed the black pudgy thing that used to sleep on top of car (causing all those scratches on the hood).
Sorry twinkle.tita jaime failed. Goodbye wilkins.