As soon as I opened the fence that rainy Wednesday afternoon, I flew through the stairs to the front porch. It’s just been perhaps only 45 minutes ago when I left Brigitta and her back whatever, and there she was ringing again.
Still it wasn’t her that made me ignore the calls. My mother educate me enough to be a decent human being and attend to anyone no matter how much I would rather choke them to oblivion.
It was the worn out, battered white cat trying to eat Hanshin’s leftover food; the tiny bits by the corner of the bowl that was kept moist only by the dampness of the rain.
My white knight.
The white knight who has FCV yet refused to surrender and choose to stay on the street.
My white knight who comes every night for food and enough time for me to medicate him.
And then disappear into the night.
I was standing there, the last time he visited. watching his glistening white fur, cleaned and warm, walking away. There was this desperation seeping in my heart that moved my hand to reach out to his tail up high; like a damsel forlornly looking at the hero who carry her away from distress, and stole her heart.
Those eyes now, that looked at me, was not those of a valiant hero. Those eyes now, that looked at me, was handsome, and brilliant, mesmerizing, but tired, old, and suffered.
I didn’t care about the rain that drips on my back when I bent my knee to touch his swollen back, his watery potbelly.
I didn’t care about the other damsel with such exquisite degree from famous university trying to impose her algorithm. I wrapped him in my jacket, lift him up, and walked inside.
I didn’t care about his protests as he struggled even to wiggle out of my arm, though I do had the bliss that he would stay on my lap instead of running away.
There was that constant beep to notify me that someone else is calling when I was talking to my kitty ambulance vet, but I know who it was. I know where I want to be, and that would not be her.
He stays with the vet for two days, and came back with the same big belly I found him with.
The vet told me that she drained about two liters of FIP fluid from his body cavities, but looking at his condition, she put in natural saline in replacement so that his body won’t be shocked by the sudden drainage. If I handled him as good as I did Tito, the natural saline will come out with urine, and when he is on normal cat shape, we will have to start new regime for him.
He got twice as much medicine as Tito, and he stays inside since. He got his cat bed back, he got his blanket back, he likes the cave of the beacon tower I bought the cats for Christmas.
He never climbed the kitchen counter. He never tried to get into the freezer, he was a total gentleman I had hoped the other cats would become.
And every day, despite all the messages and demands and the bratitude down the other rescue he would sat by me and look into my eyes.
And all the minutes he finishes his special bowl of organic home made food he endures all sort of injection, and vitamins, and supplements, and pokes on his belly.
And all the time his urine is like flooding river. First brownish yellow and smells so sickening, then clearer, and less smelly, and clearer, and less smelly.
And three days later he lift his front legs and lean on me with that brilliant, yellow eyes as I opened my bedroom in the morning.
And all the tears that I shed every time I saw him, turned from all the sad tears to all of the happy ones, and hope, and prayers, and silent whispers.
He is home, he is where I belong. He is just as stranger to me as the other woman, but she has everything and me, he has no one but me.
He was fixed, de-wormed, de-ticked. He has warm bath once again, and hair dryer, and new sheets and new towel. He glistened like the moon, his white fur is more beautiful than the strings of pearl.
He has new medicines, he has new regime.
He can run now, he can jump. He is friends with Turner the one eyed kitty from the restaurant.
He is my white knight.
And beside my guest I worked every single minute of my waking hour to have my house done for his comfort and secure his healing.
That night my vet brought him back home after his regular checkout with the other FIP cats.
“He is amazing, he gains weight. He is almost normal”
We looked at each other’s eyes with smile, the vet and I. We hoped that he will be like Tito and Ginger’s mama. Their FIP slowed down so much they haven’t got any fluid build up for the whole year.
That night he insisted to follow me into my room, and perhaps, for the first time in his life, slept on a soft bed with thick duvet.
That night he disappeared into the darkness of the night, and become one with the skylight.