We said goodbye to Sandringham on Sunday. She joined The Whiskers’ Syndicate when she was four months old. When I took her to be spayed two months later, we found out that she has FIV (Feline Imunodeficiency Virus).
Hence, I cancelled her spay due to the risk, especially since our veterinary technology has not yet adequate compared to other countries, and obviously ruled out the possibility that she can be released, despite her favorable character.
Sandringham is resilient. She does not bow to circumstances, she does not give up in the face of trouble. If she can’t walk through it, if she can’t ram into it and destroy it, she go around it.
Sandringham is persistent; such shows the abundant force of her perseverance. She fell ill many, many times; as our weather is harsher every year, when our shelter almost drowned, when renovation gave her dust and debris, when hard financial time only gave her enough.
If universe gave her good days, she will play, if universe gave her bad days, she still play, just slower, just gentler.
Sandringham endures her condition like a castle on the hill, atop the mountain. She does not protrude like a gigantic black menace with pointy towers in Dracula. She stand still, graceful and solemn, giving shade to the pastures and the fowls below, giving peace to her occupants, giving perch for the rising sun, illuminated under the moon, surrounded by the stars.
Sandringham is four years old, in a body of a year old cat; but in this world when everything moves slower, and a hundred years behind the front runner, she lives for me, four thousand years. Even those front runners will tell me that in their utopia of advancement, FIV cats will live at most five years.
Sandringham is one year short, in a country one hundred years late.
Sandringham is my champion.
PS: Sandringham is the white one with yellow patches.