DISSOLVED IN SUNLIGHT

“The rose’s rarest essence, lives in it’s thorn”

How an Ottoman philosopher found out about such truth in his aging journeys, escaped me; but Daisy probably know.

When I jumped out of my bed, far before the sun rise, she was still in bed. She will raise the last of the whole cattery, deep in the afternoon, when everyone eaten, and the house cleaned, when it’s time for another world that I have yet to be seen, behind my door, to the streets, everywhere.

I would nudge and wake her, sometimes against her willing, so that she would hurry and enjoy her far late breakfast – or early dinner, and took a sip of her milk.

There will be endless rows of kibble like pills, or little mounds of powder, on and off white, but I wouldn’t normally just chuck them into the hollows of her cheek.

I would mix one powder or some pills, and mix it with a cheese paste, which tube she often licks. And then the other part of those line mixed with broth, though she would trick me now and again by lowering her head down very slowly, until I thought she would dip her nose inside, and stayed in position for a very long time.

But if the water does not trickle, I would know she is there for the game.

There will be other way to get the broth and all her life supports into the food that she will gladly licked clean.

There will be sacks of kibbles that she would jump onto and nibble.

And deep into the night when I finally come home, I would forgot that in my rush to get everything else that complete the circle, the lazy Daisy slipped out with me and into the cattery.

Laying around, sleeping. Playing around sitting, chasing, loving the attention of many ladies and gentlemen of her own kind.

At first, she came last, when I put down a big bowl of kibbles and everyone made a beeline. Then one cat after another, she comes first.

On those days when she felt on top of the world, or when she thought she had beaten the fairies and join the Chesire, she would show me that essence. The thorn.

She would claw me for my seduction to take her medicine. She will bit me as punishment for tricking her into taking her vitamins.

She would run an hide, never to be found, when it’s time for a short journey where she would be pricked and a precious red petal fall down into a small tube, just to make sure there will be more late breakfast and more early dinner. Just to make sure there will be more plays, more laying around, more love from the ladies and gentlemen, and more days under the blanket on a soft, cottony duvet where she can sprawl to all direction.

There was never any readings, of how cats with Leukemia will die; there are only the end of fairy tales, of how cats with Leukemia may live long and prosper, and happily ever after.

The other black cat before her, Koge Pan, just like her, with Leukemia, went into a coma. So three vets and I arranged for the most beautiful bed, on the top of her tower, and set her free in her dream.

So maybe, that was the answer? Live long and prosper, or dream happily ever after?

Then last night, Daisy woke up, curl her bony back, and walk and prowl.

She sat by my side, looking at my face, winded and worn. There are days, when I have lost all the words, and what was left is the finger.

She sat down on her tummy, her fore paws stretched out.

“I know you’re tired but come, this is the way.”

I put down the phone that has been my sharpest spear, and my bloodiest shield. I put down the war that I have been fighting from the dawn of day. I scratched her chin, and she purred. Soft and gently.

But just that moment, I thought, our souls made them heard, because I cannot see no one, yet I can feel languages. On her face, on what must be mine.

“I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.”

And she fell asleep, and I fell asleep.

But when I come nudge her in the morning, for her late breakfast, or dinner far too early, she was not there.

Only a piece of answer, as I took her and lay her on my lap, one final time.

“This is how I would die
into the love I have for you:
As pieces of cloud
dissolve in sunlight.”

~ Josie

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Disclaimer:
These quotes:
“The rose’s rarest essence, lives in it’s thorn”
“I know you’re tired but come, this is the way.”
“I was dead, then alive.
Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,
and I became fierce like a lion,
then tender like the evening star.”
“This is how I would die
into the love I have for you:
As pieces of cloud
dissolve in sunlight.”

Belongs to Jalal Ad Din Muhammad Rumi. Known simply as Rumi (30 September 1207 – 17 December 1273), was a 13th-century Persian, Sunni, Muslim poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, theologian, and Sufi mystic.

 


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