3. Mom Cat
I can't remember exactly on what date Mom Cat passed away. I could only remember the sensation of the wind when it brushed across my skin as I frantically carried her carrier along 9th Street toward 1st Avenue in order to catch a cab to Park Slope. I was wearing my red knitted sweater, a pair of jeans, and a jacket that I eventually took off because of the sweat.
Till now, I am still afraid that her spirit would pay a visit to my 12th Street apartment, where she would find the new tenant who could hardly understand her language. I could see the disappointment on her face, her hope to seek warmth in my arms or from my cheek, and the pair of eyes that would tell me her want, her fear and her life story. I wish that I had the courage to stay home with her the entire time when she was ill. It was unforgivably cruel of me to leave her home. Her desperate cry, generated from the depth of her solitude and her love for me, a cry that she voiced as she protest the very first time I had to step out of my apartment for work, is something that still confounds my soul.
Mom Cat had a name, which I finally put onto her death certificate, though Bob and I habitually called her Mom Cat. As Bob and I leaned against the desk in the office of the Humane Society, Mom Cat leaped up to the desk and caressed Bob's hand with her chin. She wanted us to bring her home. She kept wandering around us as we went to see Pupazzo. The staff in the Humane Society told us that they were lovers, and we decided to bring her home.
Bob was assigned to take care of her on our way home and I took care of baby Pupazzo. She cried all the way on the taxi. After we open the carriers, she walked out and strolled along the walls of the apartment for a full circle. Pupazzo followed her. She did a survey of the entire room. I was watching them with Bob. She then hid underneath the futon. I had to go to work soon after their arrival. Mom Cat walked out from her hiding place and cried at me. I realized then that our paths were truly crossed. She had found me. If she were looking for someone during her brief visit to this world, it was probably me for whom she had been looking and to whom she wanted to convey something.
One day, Bob brought home a large electric fan. He temporarily put it on a chair. The fan fell down and Mom Cat dashed into the bathroom. She refused to come out for a few days. We also realized that she would cry during the the day when I was away from home. My neighbor would sometimes suggest that I should hire a cat-sitter to accompany her. We deduced that she had probably suffered a lot at her previous home(s), and had probably gave birth before. All I knew was that she needed me.
I spent a lot of time trying to befriend Pupazzo, as he turned out to be more independent than I thought. I probably should have given more attention to Mom Cat, if only I knew that those were the last three years of her life.
Mom Cat and I talked both verbally and through our eyes. She understood me and I tried my best to understand her. She always wore a shameful, humble and frightful look that she carried from her last host. She was always careful not to step onto my body when she moved around the bed. She never asked for food and she was always clean and proper in the bathroom. She was probably trained in a sub-humane manner before. Conversely, Pupazzo has always been a boy a nature: a proletarian cat. He was raised to do whatever he wants and to be whoever he wants to be, besides some basic disciplines. Bryan said that whenever Pupazzo wanted his loving, he would walk right up to you or crawl onto your face. Mom Cat never did these. She was a civilized cat, an elegant cat, an aristocratic cat: a “regal” cat who enjoyed a quiet afternoon or evening lying next to the aquarium. Nonetheless, her shameful, humble and frightful look always gave me an unspeakable melancholy. She was always afraid of doing something wrong.
The summer before she left this world was a good summer. I noticed that she was getting smaller and smaller, and was craving for water all the time, though I gainsaid the possibility that she was sick. I was financially disparaged, so as Bob, and it was inconceivable for me to bring her to the vet. I remember that I spent an afternoon correcting my student's papers. When I took a bathroom break, Mom Cat knocked down my cup of espresso. I came out from the bathroom and discovered it. She hid herself behind the lava lamp, afraid that I would hit her. How could I hit you, Mom Cat? Your eyes told me everything. All you wanted was to be close to me and what was wrong with you spilling that bit of coffee?
We all suffered from the blackout that summer. Now I remember it, out last summer together. I lied in bed and played “Norwegian Wood” on m guitar and ate my little piece of bread that was left over from the day before.
Mom Cat got sick sometime in September. Her chin was swollen, and I was cruel enough to wait for a week before I sent her to the ER. That day, she had difficulty urinating. On 9th Street, the vet told me that she was dying; but they could probably stabilize her. Her temperature was dropping and her body was beginning to shut down. Death had never been translated to such scientific and physical terms to me. In the words of the vet, it was a clinically documentable process. He recommended me to send her to Brooklyn to cut half of the cost. They admitted her and she stayed there for three days.
She got to a state at which her condition resembled normality by the time I got her back from Brooklyn. I were to IV her water and feed her pills, which she absolutely detested. In addition to all these, I gave her some herbs. She cried all the way from the hospital; but that cried gave me hope that she was “alive.” When she arrived home, she walked out of the carrier and looked around. She gave a deep sigh and slept for hours.
She never managed to eat by herself again––a cat who had never missed an opportunity to miss a meal or a snack. She threw up a lot and she also had trouble using the bathroom. All these were fine with me, except from the time when she would absolutely refuse to eat or to receive her IV. I yelled at her, telling her that it was the way we could hope that she would stay alive. I understood that she knew better that she was dying, that death had already claimed her. We were only buying time.
One day, she was acting better. She wanted to eat with Pupazzo the dry food that I poured into the tower. I still regret that I didn't allow her to eat the dry food. It was bad for her, but what more could I do for her besides giving her what she wanted? She never showed any interest in food from that very day. When I was a boy, I heard that a dying person would normally have one afternoon when she/he would have the impression that she/he was “normal.” In Chinese, people call it “huiguang fanzhao” (light from the wheel of life reflected from the other world). It is a divine grace for the living a brief moment before a dying being.
I prayed all night when Mom Cat was hospitalized, and I found one of my keys bent in my pocket. Every time I used that key to open my building's door, I thought about a testament under which Mom Cat and I were allowed to spend that month of borrowed time. One night, Mom Cat, who always hated to cling onto a human body, slept on my lap for hours. If I were allowed to stop time and preserve one moment, that would be it.
The IV ran out the day before her death, and from her eyes, I realized that the inevitable was about to come. I needed to go to Williamsburg to sign my apartment application. Before I left, Mom Cat had an attack. She screamed painfully but then she calmed down. I told her to wait, that I had to find a place for all of us to live. She stared at me grudgingly. She was blaming me that I couldn't stay home longer with her. At Williamsburg, I found out that the landlord wouldn't allow any pet, and the broker was about to negotiate with the landlord with me. On my way home, I saw a crowd standing in front of the small brown-stone building close to 3rd Avenue with a telescope. An old men invited me to look through the telescope, “see, it's an eclipse.”
Mom Cat heaved a sign of relief when I got home. I was so exhausted that I was ready for bed. I knew from her eyes that she was waiting. I made my bed, crawled into the blanket and held her in my arms. Unlike her usual self, she rested there. Boy Cat crawled up and prepared her. Since she was sick, she had been having difficulty cleaning herself. I also found it difficult to keep up her soiling and vomiting. Pupazzo cleaned her up thoroughly. For a moment, she resumed the way she looked before her illness. Both of us lied together, and we fell asleep, at least both Mom Cat and I did.
I checked her breathing now and then during the night, and she seemed peaceful. I had a sense that her temperature was dropping. I was torn between wanting to see her leave in peace and wanting to see her stay alive. At five o'clock or so (or six, I couldn't remember), she was still breathing. She moved herself slightly away from me, the way she always liked. Bob Cat was still lying next to us. I fell asleep again and genuinely hoped that she could survive the night safely. At seven o'clock, I found her four legs all stretched out, her eyes wide open and her mouth agape. She was staring at the gap of the window. Someone came in through there and took her away. Death was just inches away from me, physically speaking, but death had me asleep while it did its work. Pupazzo ate his breakfast and jumped up to me. “We're alone now.”
Till now, I don't know what she saw at the gap of that window, and I moved away from that apartment less than a month later. All I could see from her face was pain––the pain of life that she carried through her suffering, and the pain that I failed to relieve in her last three years of life.
Sleep well, Mom Cat, and play to your heart's content.
Till now, I am still afraid that her spirit would pay a visit to my 12th Street apartment, where she would find the new tenant who could hardly understand her language. I could see the disappointment on her face, her hope to seek warmth in my arms or from my cheek, and the pair of eyes that would tell me her want, her fear and her life story. I wish that I had the courage to stay home with her the entire time when she was ill. It was unforgivably cruel of me to leave her home. Her desperate cry, generated from the depth of her solitude and her love for me, a cry that she voiced as she protest the very first time I had to step out of my apartment for work, is something that still confounds my soul.
Mom Cat had a name, which I finally put onto her death certificate, though Bob and I habitually called her Mom Cat. As Bob and I leaned against the desk in the office of the Humane Society, Mom Cat leaped up to the desk and caressed Bob's hand with her chin. She wanted us to bring her home. She kept wandering around us as we went to see Pupazzo. The staff in the Humane Society told us that they were lovers, and we decided to bring her home.
Bob was assigned to take care of her on our way home and I took care of baby Pupazzo. She cried all the way on the taxi. After we open the carriers, she walked out and strolled along the walls of the apartment for a full circle. Pupazzo followed her. She did a survey of the entire room. I was watching them with Bob. She then hid underneath the futon. I had to go to work soon after their arrival. Mom Cat walked out from her hiding place and cried at me. I realized then that our paths were truly crossed. She had found me. If she were looking for someone during her brief visit to this world, it was probably me for whom she had been looking and to whom she wanted to convey something.
One day, Bob brought home a large electric fan. He temporarily put it on a chair. The fan fell down and Mom Cat dashed into the bathroom. She refused to come out for a few days. We also realized that she would cry during the the day when I was away from home. My neighbor would sometimes suggest that I should hire a cat-sitter to accompany her. We deduced that she had probably suffered a lot at her previous home(s), and had probably gave birth before. All I knew was that she needed me.
I spent a lot of time trying to befriend Pupazzo, as he turned out to be more independent than I thought. I probably should have given more attention to Mom Cat, if only I knew that those were the last three years of her life.
Mom Cat and I talked both verbally and through our eyes. She understood me and I tried my best to understand her. She always wore a shameful, humble and frightful look that she carried from her last host. She was always careful not to step onto my body when she moved around the bed. She never asked for food and she was always clean and proper in the bathroom. She was probably trained in a sub-humane manner before. Conversely, Pupazzo has always been a boy a nature: a proletarian cat. He was raised to do whatever he wants and to be whoever he wants to be, besides some basic disciplines. Bryan said that whenever Pupazzo wanted his loving, he would walk right up to you or crawl onto your face. Mom Cat never did these. She was a civilized cat, an elegant cat, an aristocratic cat: a “regal” cat who enjoyed a quiet afternoon or evening lying next to the aquarium. Nonetheless, her shameful, humble and frightful look always gave me an unspeakable melancholy. She was always afraid of doing something wrong.
The summer before she left this world was a good summer. I noticed that she was getting smaller and smaller, and was craving for water all the time, though I gainsaid the possibility that she was sick. I was financially disparaged, so as Bob, and it was inconceivable for me to bring her to the vet. I remember that I spent an afternoon correcting my student's papers. When I took a bathroom break, Mom Cat knocked down my cup of espresso. I came out from the bathroom and discovered it. She hid herself behind the lava lamp, afraid that I would hit her. How could I hit you, Mom Cat? Your eyes told me everything. All you wanted was to be close to me and what was wrong with you spilling that bit of coffee?
We all suffered from the blackout that summer. Now I remember it, out last summer together. I lied in bed and played “Norwegian Wood” on m guitar and ate my little piece of bread that was left over from the day before.
Mom Cat got sick sometime in September. Her chin was swollen, and I was cruel enough to wait for a week before I sent her to the ER. That day, she had difficulty urinating. On 9th Street, the vet told me that she was dying; but they could probably stabilize her. Her temperature was dropping and her body was beginning to shut down. Death had never been translated to such scientific and physical terms to me. In the words of the vet, it was a clinically documentable process. He recommended me to send her to Brooklyn to cut half of the cost. They admitted her and she stayed there for three days.
She got to a state at which her condition resembled normality by the time I got her back from Brooklyn. I were to IV her water and feed her pills, which she absolutely detested. In addition to all these, I gave her some herbs. She cried all the way from the hospital; but that cried gave me hope that she was “alive.” When she arrived home, she walked out of the carrier and looked around. She gave a deep sigh and slept for hours.
She never managed to eat by herself again––a cat who had never missed an opportunity to miss a meal or a snack. She threw up a lot and she also had trouble using the bathroom. All these were fine with me, except from the time when she would absolutely refuse to eat or to receive her IV. I yelled at her, telling her that it was the way we could hope that she would stay alive. I understood that she knew better that she was dying, that death had already claimed her. We were only buying time.
One day, she was acting better. She wanted to eat with Pupazzo the dry food that I poured into the tower. I still regret that I didn't allow her to eat the dry food. It was bad for her, but what more could I do for her besides giving her what she wanted? She never showed any interest in food from that very day. When I was a boy, I heard that a dying person would normally have one afternoon when she/he would have the impression that she/he was “normal.” In Chinese, people call it “huiguang fanzhao” (light from the wheel of life reflected from the other world). It is a divine grace for the living a brief moment before a dying being.
I prayed all night when Mom Cat was hospitalized, and I found one of my keys bent in my pocket. Every time I used that key to open my building's door, I thought about a testament under which Mom Cat and I were allowed to spend that month of borrowed time. One night, Mom Cat, who always hated to cling onto a human body, slept on my lap for hours. If I were allowed to stop time and preserve one moment, that would be it.
The IV ran out the day before her death, and from her eyes, I realized that the inevitable was about to come. I needed to go to Williamsburg to sign my apartment application. Before I left, Mom Cat had an attack. She screamed painfully but then she calmed down. I told her to wait, that I had to find a place for all of us to live. She stared at me grudgingly. She was blaming me that I couldn't stay home longer with her. At Williamsburg, I found out that the landlord wouldn't allow any pet, and the broker was about to negotiate with the landlord with me. On my way home, I saw a crowd standing in front of the small brown-stone building close to 3rd Avenue with a telescope. An old men invited me to look through the telescope, “see, it's an eclipse.”
Mom Cat heaved a sign of relief when I got home. I was so exhausted that I was ready for bed. I knew from her eyes that she was waiting. I made my bed, crawled into the blanket and held her in my arms. Unlike her usual self, she rested there. Boy Cat crawled up and prepared her. Since she was sick, she had been having difficulty cleaning herself. I also found it difficult to keep up her soiling and vomiting. Pupazzo cleaned her up thoroughly. For a moment, she resumed the way she looked before her illness. Both of us lied together, and we fell asleep, at least both Mom Cat and I did.
I checked her breathing now and then during the night, and she seemed peaceful. I had a sense that her temperature was dropping. I was torn between wanting to see her leave in peace and wanting to see her stay alive. At five o'clock or so (or six, I couldn't remember), she was still breathing. She moved herself slightly away from me, the way she always liked. Bob Cat was still lying next to us. I fell asleep again and genuinely hoped that she could survive the night safely. At seven o'clock, I found her four legs all stretched out, her eyes wide open and her mouth agape. She was staring at the gap of the window. Someone came in through there and took her away. Death was just inches away from me, physically speaking, but death had me asleep while it did its work. Pupazzo ate his breakfast and jumped up to me. “We're alone now.”
Till now, I don't know what she saw at the gap of that window, and I moved away from that apartment less than a month later. All I could see from her face was pain––the pain of life that she carried through her suffering, and the pain that I failed to relieve in her last three years of life.
Sleep well, Mom Cat, and play to your heart's content.
posted by Victor Fan at 5:48 PM
1 Comments:
All three of these pieces are interesting, but it's interesting how they get more interesting as we go.
The first one is intelligent but engages me the least...it sounds most like a journal entry, abstract thoughts and a general mopiness that while genuine doesn't of course constitute a total life vision - it supposes the context of a larger life, like a journal entry would.
The second one grabs me more, not sure why. it's still a little abstract and critical-studies-ish; and of course there's nothing wrong with that. It's more intellectual in how it comes across to me.
But I find the third one very moving. It's concrete, full of all sorts of well-observed details; the eclipse is an interesting one to throw in, as it barely means anything except dramatically, but it does that very well. Emotionally though you paint such a vivid picture of your relationship with this cat in such specifics that it ends up having much greater emotional resonance. It's very moving. The moment of death is about death, period, it's eerie and it's universal - her expression, the fact that you were asleep as though death had put you to sleep in order to do its work. Even the fact that you moved out of your apartment soon afterward: I don't know if that was related or not, that you moved out, but it works that way in the story, and works well.
It's so full of love, too...it's sad and melancholy in a way that the earlier two pieces get at (not the same but similar), but in this piece one feels a lot of life, a total grasp of the world, a total view, something that celebrates at the same time as it is melancholic. it's a very nice piece. I was glad to come in and find it.
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