The long awaited package had finally come. It’s two days late; but everything is late these days. The road leading to our house is still constipated, and people living alongside alternative roads can’t really be friendly although they will, once it’s done, be the first to use the new road when it’s done.
On the bed under the blanket, whispering so I won’t attract too much attention and wake the whole house, I was busy with a cutter. I didn’t know how all those people did it in the movies, but I have trouble using my limbs, if anything.
Maybe it’s just my eyes.
It will be light soon; the sun will rise, but I have long lost my patience.
I have long lost my temper
I have long forsaken all manners to the almighy
I have long loathe and despise Him, who throw things at me and after He seemed to run out of things to throw, take one deep breath and invent anything out of thin air to hurl toward me.
This one thing hurling, is a package from Beijing. Small, ampoule like bottles which I will soon be struggling to draw out and into the cats mouth.
They will be weak, they will have no energy; but an animal cornered in pain will unleash terrifying power in the name of their survival, if even for one second. Winning or losing will never enter their mind.
So would I.
I am not a general, I am not a warrior, I am a simple girl with tremendous love for all these creatures big and small abused, forsaken, taken for granted by the herds of men. I do not calculate the wind, I do not count the artilleries, I just save lives.
And this elixir I am holding; in a box slightly larger than brick. It contains what might be the last unleash of terrifying power for survival, even if it is for just one more day.
Still, when the sun finally rise, when new day finally come, full of hope, to the brim with anticipation, I found Siegfried by the foot of my bed, curling, but no longer breathing.
Would it be different if I just stir him up twenty five minutes prior? Would it be different if I did not wait for four hours because he had just taken his antibiotics? Would it be different if…
Would it be different now?
Siegfried had crossed over the rainbow bridge.
After he live on the street, motherless, homeless. After he lost one of his eyes at the early dawn of his life. After trying his best to stay alive and reach up for a dangling squid. After being clubbed by a woman who only knows that animals does not belong to what human eats.
After almost landing on a hard concrete, as he flew to oblivion, for attempting robbery.
Things are a little bit better after he went home with me. He grows up, he stays healthy, he jump and play, he got fixed. He climbed, he curls, and he love.
I love his smiling face. I love the aurora of kindness that seeped through my heart whenever I see him, looking up at me with that one eye.
I love the way he tried to live just the way he is, even though there is that pain iin his stomach every now and then. Even though his discharge has never been normal, even though he start losing weight starting the last months of last year.
No one knows what happened, and I have long given up on taking him everywhere against his will for all sort of tests that never come back with anything meaningful, until these past few weeks when an expert surgeon read everything and said it might be gastrointestinal cancer, though there is no way to be sure until he has MRI, which does not exist for animals in this part of the world.
He love to stay in the house, curling up, sprawling up, pretzels. On the cushion, on the blanket, on the table, on the counter.
I love him just the same if he choose to live as it is and enjoy time to the last.
I took a deep breath and hold him close to my chest, put my head down to his chest.
Twenty five minutes ago he might still be here, because I saw him move, and draw a breath.
Twenty five minutes ago it might be different
Or it might not.
It doesn’t matter.
Siegfried is gone.
Siegfried is free.