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文學城裏一條街,風光雪月映樓台,欲知窗外塵中緣,街坊故事道出來!
Nothing is certain in this world except death…and taxes
--- Anonymous---
The pain passes, but the beauty remains
---Pierre Auguste Renoir—
People like to keep pets. I mean, who wouldn’t like to see a wriggling pup in a cage under the Christmas tree with a tag that says; “Merry Christmas, ______”? And that’s why I was so delighted at age four when I received a Labrador retriever for my birthday. I thought that pets last forever, that they would never go away. My new pet, Burrito, and me were best buddies for a while. Then I had to leave to school, at six. I met new friends, went over to friend’s houses, and did what kids did. I thought that now should be a time that I paid attention to the things going on around me more, because I thought that my dog Burrito would always be there for me to come back to. Well, I was wrong. Burrito, without the constant company of his favourite owner, up and died on us. I was heartbroken. My best friend for what seemed like an eternity was gone. Gone like the wind. From then on I vowed never to let another animal stay for more than 3 minutes in the house. And I kept that vow. I kept it until two years ago, when my wife came home, 40 minutes late, with a plain cardboard box in her hand. I can relate the night well…
“Jeffrey, I can explain.” “And don’t say anything until I finish, okay?” She added quickly when I opened my mouth. “Well, I was driving along 3rd line and I saw a beggar man walking down the street with this box looking really worn out and tired. As you know, people usually don’t see any beggars in this town so I was staring at him with curiosity. I wasn’t really interested until he met a passer-by and asked him something. I couldn’t hear, but he was gesturing to the box really anxiously and he kept on pleading the guy. You know I’m a sucker for pleading people, so I pulled up and I asked the guy what was wrong. He replied earnestly; “See, my cat here just gave babies to a litter o’ kittens, and I can barely take care of myself. I can’t bring myself to abandon them but I can’t care for them. Please, please take care of them for me. Give them a good home. It would mean the world to me.” I couldn’t help myself, so I took the whole box. There are three here, they’re shorthaired tabbies, I think. I know you said that you wouldn’t allow pets in here, but did I really have a choice? Please Jeffrey, let them in here. I’ll take full responsibility over them. All you have to do is give up a little of your foot room.” My wife looked at me pleadingly. Well, I thought. What the heck. So I let the little kittens in. Their eyes weren’t open, much too young to take from its mother. My wife, Sharon, quickly took the box and filled it with soft fabrics from Fabricland. I didn’t like the situation though. I’ve been avoiding pets since Burrito, and even if I had to keep an animal I definitely wouldn’t pick cats. Give me a loyal, fun, puppy any day, but not spoiled, dainty felines. Well, at least they were all male. I wouldn’t have stood if they were girls.
Soon the kittens were snuggled in for the night, after we fed them with warmed milk from the tiniest bottle we could find. It was almost 11 o clock when we were done, and we hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Sharon gave up on preparing dinner and called Pizza Hut. Then we plopped down on the sofa and fell right asleep during the late late night show.
Two years later, I’m sitting here, thinking about all the good times I’ve had with my kittens. We named the gray/white striped one The Buster, the black one Schnapps, and the youngest one, a black, brown and white cat named Mo the Menace. I still have that knack for names, do I not? =)
It brings back tears to the night they passed away, just a month ago. One after the other, and they were all only two years old. Schnapps died first, after a drunk driver hit him during a camping trip. Mo probably died after that because of the shock from the death of his brother. Mo and Schnapps did everything together. Schnapps was Mo’s idol, and Mo, now that I think about it, never fully recovered from the shock. He would meow and wonder why Schnapps wasn’t there to help him make his bed comfortable, Sometimes he would pace around the carpet, as if searching for something that was missing. Finally, Buster died. Buster was always the mature one, the show off one. He was really funny. And liked to entertain his brothers. He’s the clumsy one though. The one who would hold his tail and nose up high while he walked, only to walk into a wall. Yes, he was the joker of the house. He died last, and his was the only peaceful death. He took care of the two brothers, and when they were gone, he died, knowing that his job was done. Like a guardian cat, I guess. I’m still recovering from the shock, for I’ve grown really attached to the guys. Sharon fretted that I might go back to my old ways, to hate animals and everything about them, but I’ve learned my lesson. Animals have to die, sooner or later, as do all of us. But as humans, we might as well let the animals live a good life, instead of feeling sorry for ourselves and making their lives miserable. And of course, how could I go back to my old ways, when last night Sharon arrived home with a box in her hands…
