"ONE… Two… Three… Four…" Each whispered count reverberates in the solemn sanctuary of my mind, a ritual as familiar as the beating of my heart. With precision, I dispense portions of cat food onto the vibrant Ikea plates, each movement so routine now. I'd been doing it almost on auto-mode for the last two years.
But as the weight of absence settles upon my shoulders, I feel tears cascading freely down my cheeks, turning into a downpour of grief at the realisation that "Five" — or Moonie — would never be a word I'd utter again.
A ghostly murmur of impatient meowing drifts into my ears, entwining with the sound of restless "swish, swish" of claws against wood. Moonie! The memory of her endearing reaction to my "sloth-like" speed of preparing her food suddenly floats into my periphery.
Moonie… Once again, the name of my missing cat escapes my lips in a futile plea to conjure her presence. But only a deafening silence permeates, the echo of her absence magnified even more.
The relentless whir of the stand fan by the dining table piercing the quietude of the kitchen whips me back to the present. Looking down, I see four pairs of expectant eyes fixed upon me, their silent vigil by my legs a poignant reminder of the emptiness that now pervades our shared existence.
Hastily, I scoop the remaining slivers from the packets as I succumb to the silent plea of mother cat Kiki and her remaining children — Harry, Bisou and Siti Snow, placing the plates onto the floor for the famished.
"Where are you, Moonie," I wonder silently, as my steps, heavy ever since her disappearance, make their way towards my bedroom to prepare for the day's work. Trailing behind me, I spy Bisou, Moonie's favourite brother following me, seemingly seeking solace in human company.
LAUGHTER AND LIGHT
Moonie was the slightest — in frame — among her four siblings. I was there to help deliver her in the cramped confines of our laundry room as mother cat Kiki writhed in pain during her long labour in the wee hours.
With her fur matted and dishevelled, she emerged as the second adorable bundle of joy, her tiny form wriggling and flailing as she tentatively took her first steps upon the blood-sodden cloth lining the basket.
From her earliest days, Moonie remained steadfastly close to her mother, Kiki. Unlike her more boisterous siblings, there was a stately air about her. While not one for overt displays of affection, she had her moments of tenderness, often just before bedtime or at the sight of her favourite treat. It was then that she'd gingerly approach, settling herself on my body, her eyes fixed upon my face with a look of unmistakable longing.
Yet, as the months unfurled, a shadow began to creep across her once vibrant spirit. In her second year of life, the signs of affliction emerged like tendrils of despair weaving their way through the fabric of our existence.
Moonie began to lose her once-lustrous coat and before long, unsightly scabs took their place on her body, a result of her delicate skin being ravaged by incessant itching. With each passing day, she grew more frail, her once sparkling eyes now clouded with the weight of her suffering.
Painful ulcers began to creep inside her mouth and her upper lip became swollen. And yet, despite the cruel afflictions, Moonie surprised us with her voracious appetite. The vet had warned us that she'd lose the simple pleasure of nourishment. But she never did. That fact gave us hope. For as long as she was eating, surely she'd be alright?
PAINFUL JOURNEY
We made frequent trips to veterinary clinics, desperately clinging to the fragile threads of optimism, intent on finding a cure for our beloved cat. Yet, the prognosis offered little solace — Moonie's immune system was too low, while her ailment seemed to be a mystery.
To ease her pain, the vet prescribed a regimen of constant steroid injections, offering fleeting moments of respite. But the relief proved ephemeral and her condition just deteriorated with each passing day.
As Moonie's condition worsened, her once boundless energy waned, replaced by a quiet resignation that pierced our hearts. No longer did she frolic with abandon or bask in the warmth of our affection. Instead, she'd seek the warmth of inanimate objects — the modem on the table, the TV, the shoebox on the shelf — her once expressive eyes now dull with the burden of her pain.
We did everything within our power to ease her suffering, to offer her comfort. Yet, beneath the facade of stoicism, I could sense her silent plea for release from the painful shackles of her mysterious affliction.
WHERE ARE YOU, MOONIE?
It was a day just like any other day. I'd returned home from work only to learn that Moonie had disappeared without a trace. Despite me trying to lure her out with her favourite treat, only her siblings swarmed around me. After frantically scouring every corner of the house, the call of her name getting louder and louder, it finally dawned on me that Moonie wasn't in the house.
We proceeded to venture outside, combing every floor and every nook and bushes surrounding the apartment block. Hearts heavy with dread, our cries of anguish were lost amidst the night's deafening silence. Hours passed and Moonie remained elusive, her whereabouts a total mystery. My cat had vanished without a trace.
It's been weeks now since her disappearance. In the depths of our despair, we continue to cling to the age-old Malay belief that cats will wander far from home when their time draws near, sparing their loved ones the agony of witnessing their demise.
In the quiet moments these days, as I sit with Bisou, Harry, Siti Snow and Kiki, I find myself reflecting on the fate of our beloved Moonie, lost to us but never forgotten. Sometimes, when returning home from work and ascending the stairs to my unit, I'd whisper her name to the heavens, hoping desperately that I'd hear her shrill cry in response. Maybe we'll wake up from this God-awful dream.
Coincidentally, a kitten, injured by a car, recently entered our lives. The pitiful creature was left abandoned with a note: "Save Me". And so, we did. Now he's bounding around the house as if he's always been a part of it.
"Moonie, did you send this little one to ease our sorrow?" I muse silently, gazing at Nugget (as the bundle of mischief is called) sleeping peacefully between my legs, tired out by his attempts at chasing his own tail.
May you be in cat heaven now Moonie. Free from all pain…
