It would never be forgotten; from year to year, from life to life, from love to love.
It would never be forgotten; that we begin with an amazing Grace. A friendly feral, thin, poor, hungry, pregnant.
It would never be forgotten; that she chose a boarding house, a common house, deep in an alley, small, and unrepaired, non living cash cow which simple existence is for money.
It would never be forgotten; however, that in its silence, the house saw many lives, many people, hear many stories, record many happenings, and stand still to watch the writing of history.
It would never be forgotten; that the pregnant feral was toy to a toddler, who kicked her the way his father kicked him, who yelled at him the way his dad yells at him, who lifted her heavy mass by her ears, the way his old man pinched him by his ears with all his anger that his feet no longer touch the ground. He began with all sort of mischief to get father’s attention, father began with the sheer annoyance that he brought forth all at the wrong time.
It would never be forgotten; that the pregnant cat, later Grace, found her way to the window of my room, and receive warm welcome.
It would never be forgotten; that she always slipped inside to hide, and receive courageous and fierce defense.
It would never be forgotten; that in one dark night, even though she has her own box, lined with new towel, and blanket, and rug, she still jumped onto the bed, in her pain, to deliver on my arm.
Five little children. One room, one bed, one clueless girl.
It would never be forgotten; that each of all five received the names taken from my homeland: Kantou, Kansai, Hokkaido, Kyushu, except for the last to born: Ainu, after the land’s native pygmy, because she is the smallest, and the youngest.
It would never be forgotten; I would never forget, that one night, in the dark, near midnight. Grace came to my window, and lead me, through the roof. It was my first adventure, the first time I forgot I am a stranger of this town, and jump from tile to tile, creep from wall to wall, two houses away.
It was an empty lot, built halfway, then abandoned. There I sat on a dirt stairway, looking down to the concrete floor cracked and dried, tall grasses jutting from its crevasses, and looking up to the clear sky and the full moon.
I would never forget; the first smile that came from my heart, looking down to a bunch of mini football player running around, looking up to the stars in the vast night sky, that will soon lead my way through the nook and cranny, every corner of this town, where the stray cats hide.
I would never forget the night after, when Grace snapped to her children who tried to follow her, and disappear in the darkness, never to return.
I would never forget the first outbreak that followed her departure, and left with me with only two of her utmost treasure. Kansai, the biggest, and Ainu the smallest.
And I would never forget the years filled with memories, of deaths, of lives, of sickness, of poverty of loss, and yet always find life, laughter, adventure, friends, family, abundance. From day to night, from weeks to months, from years to decade.
I would never forget that although his hair is now thinner, Kansai once has thick, velvety fur.
I would never forget that although he is now skinnier, Kansai once was the strongest, and the biggest. He is our Goliath.
I would never forget that although he is nine years now, and a lot calmer, he was that master of mischief who never stayed on the line. He slept horizontally when others done so vertically. He leapt up when the other stays down, he slept on his mother’s head, when the other loves her tummy.
I would never forget; every time I look at Kansai, sleeping with his tummy wide open and fulfilled, that that belly contain a history.
A history of pain, a history of loss, a history of life, a history of love.
A history of a decade
A history of Whiskers’ Syndicate