I found myself humming the song again, under my breath, in my mind, by my ears.
We’re on the road, we move from place to place, and often time when I’m about to call it home, we have to move along, life’s a constant change.
In his basket, Tito is getting calmer. He is no longer yelling, he is no longer thrashing around; he sat still, and listened.
The friends we knew, we meet along the way, too soon the time we share, forms part of yesterday, ’cause life’s a constant change, and nothing stays the same.
Two years. Two weeks.
Two weeks that I missed him every single time I dropped by to buy food from his surrogate; two weeks since the last time he came running toward me, two weeks since everyone commented, somehow at the same time, about how big, beautiful and stocky Tito is now, compared to that match stick withering baby they found spending his last days in front of the food stall.
Clouds, that move across the sky, they’re changing forms before our very eyes.
I still call him, I still wait for him, I still linger around, I still have his favorite steamed tuna. But this time he did not come running. He walked stealthily, he came silently, and I didn’t know he was there until he rubs himself on my leg.
Tito looked a little bit tired, but he has that kindred spirit that shine through his eyes, and the love and gentleness, the serenity and self fulfillment; the soul that remind gold digger and treasure hunter like me: “I have enough and I have it good”
When I gave him his tuna, he didn’t eat immediately. He took a deep breath, he sat slowly, and then he started to eat.
What big belly he has. He looks like a mother cat in her last stage of pregnancy; pregnancy with six kittens.
I knew it then. It was not fun, though it’s not a bad omen, but I stop myself going further and poke his side.
He squirms. I tried again at different spot; Tito stopped eating and look at me, then he step aside one inch away, and go back eating.
He didn’t eat much, he didn’t even finish half of the portion he used to have. And then he lifted himself, the body so heavy his hind leg bent to hold him up.
I took the photos below and texted a trusted vet, though I sort of know what the answer would be.
It will not be happily ever after. It will not be Beautiful Sunday, it will not be Breakfast At Tiffany’s.
Have we outgrown our Peter Pan and Wings? We simply grown too old for tales of knight and kings. ’cause life’s a constant change, and nothing stays the same.
It’s a little bit difficult to explain to simple people, that Tito is not fat. It’s beyond their grasps that a cat’s life can be just as complicated as humans, often more.
It takes a little while of explaining before I settled with a very basic, general understanding that Tito might have some virus; though I have not yet convey that in contracting that virus, Tito might not be staying with them too much longer.
Why couldn’t we keep time from moving on? Hold on to all the years before it’s gone? Life is a constant change, and nothing stays the same.
I called for the vet, I arranged for pick up, I brought Tito the largest carrier I have. He was angry beyond consolation and jumped to the top of canopy and stayed there, where no one can go after him.
He won’t come down the next dawn, even when we all can see in his eyes that he is hungry.
I looked at him, but I said nothing, among all people who tried to call him in all sort of intonations, between the sweet talking and ass kissing to persuade him to go down, so that he can get the help he needs. Everyone; every member of the family, their next door neighbors, the stall to the left and her daughter, the stall to the right and their elderly father.
I looked at him, but said nothing. He looked at me. There was silence between us even when the whole world is turning around in revolutionary speed and voices.
Tito climbed down. The dad rushed in to take a plastic bowl of food and put it in his basket, and when he eventually relented and go inside to eat. It was as if the world would end if that lid won’t come down in a fraction of a second.
Still in such state, Tito showed us what power house is hidden beneath all the care and the steamed tuna he got every day.
I bid my farewell and share my gratitude for everyone’s help. I moved away like a distant relative taking a child to the Mayfair in town.
I felt like the wolf holding the hand of Pinocchio.
I stopped by the corner, and squatted down beside his carrier. Tito had stopped thrashing and sat still.
We both know.
But even if we both know, I still smile. He calms down.
Life is constant change. But even while the clouds change forms before our very eyes, there were Peter Pan and wings. There were love, home, family.
And when we finally grow too old for tales of knight and king; when that cloud finally moves across the sky, there will still be stories that left to tell, there will still be days to turn, and time to share.
Until they, just like all of us, forms part of yesterday.
Constant Change (from the album Constant Change – Jose Mari Chan. Universal Records, 1989) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXkYkCtJtMo