“She looks just like a bear! Let’s call her Bear.” -mom
Bear was born on the last Saturday of June. I don’t remember the exact date, but only I witnessed the delivery. I had to pull her out. She was black. I love black cats.
Along with her were two orange brothers and one stillborn black sister.
Like her mother, she’s a sweet, sweet cat.
Back then I just lost Oren G. Witnessing this birth was a little heartbreaking for me because memories of Oren G kept coming back. I told myself I am not going to call any of them my own.
And then I fell in love.
I began calling her my “favourite” cat because of her fierce-looking face. She’s very quiet, very polite despite looking like an angry girl. I fell in love even more.
One day, I decided to call her mine.
It was after a long thought of whether or not I should.
To be honest, I was scared of losing her the way I lost Oren G. But I pushed the thoughts aside and told myself it’s time to move on.
I announced it to the house, told Bear that she’s now my cat and I bathed her. She hated the bath, but she didn’t hate me for it.
From then on, as if she knew, she would follow me everywhere I go. She would choose to sit with me, she would choose to stand behind me, everywhere with me.
She knew, she was my cat.
Even Pippi had to accept her into his box:
Enjoyed the privilege of being in my room on my chest:
And even knew that I would definitely let her in:
She loves me.
This morning, mom told me to go out to get breakfast.
I saw Bear in the kitchen.
She came to me.
I picked her up, “Oh, you’re my purring baby!”
And put her down and left the house. I told my brother not to close the gates as it was going to be a short trip.
I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had known that that would have been my last moment with her.
When I came home, she was waiting for me in front of the door.
No other cat was in sight except for Singlet.
I remember telling myself not to drive too much inwards in case I might hit her.
So I just slowly drove into the driveway and stopped before I thought I could hit her.
Nobody knew what happened. I didn’t feel any bump, I didn’t hear anything.
The next thing we knew, she was at the left side of the car lying in shock. She began to excrete. It was about 8am.
We brought her in and phoned the vet. The vet said he’s in Pontian, about an hour’s drive. He said he’ll be back by 9.45 am. Okay.
I cried. My sister cried. We all cried.
She was in great pain.
I kept apologising to her. But everytime she tried to close her eyes to go, I would call her out and her eyes would immediately dilate. It was then I knew that she wouldn’t blame me. She was just eager to see me come home and the car, to her, is a symbol of me being home.
Even at her death bed, she liked hearing my voice that she kept strong. I know that’s what kept her alive.
11 am, vet called to say he’s back in the clinic. Immediately I drove Bear to the vet. He gave her a steroid shot and said she showed good signs of recovery, because her gums were not pale, her eyes were looking around and she tried to move.
I was glad.
Drove her back home and I took care of her. Everytime she wheezed or tried to close her eyes, I would talk to her. Or touch or massage her tiny little bear-like paws. I never left her side for more than 2 minutes. She was having difficulty breathing. It was difficult to watch.
It didn’t occur to me, though, that she’d go. The vet told us to check back in 24 hours so I thought that she’d still have 24 hours.
Who knew, eh.
Finally, after a while, lethargy began to kick in. I took a pillow and lay next to the box she was in, holding her hand. She moved and kicked at times, but I’d then try to calm her down. I saw the time, 3.46 pm.
And then I don’t know what happened.
I woke up at about 3.59 pm. Bear’s head was covered with liquid. She was no longer breathing nor wheezing.
She was gone.
I lifted her head up. It was reddish liquid.
Eight hours of me waiting for her to pass, but she passed when nobody was around to watch. I was by her side all along, but accidentally fell asleep.
It was then I realised that what kept her alive were our voices. She needed something to respond to, and we kept calling her.
The final time, nobody was there.
She loves me. I know she does.
It was a very sorrow moment. It still is.
She’s buried next to Oren G.
I’ll join you someday.
Always loving and missing you, my sweet little Bear.
Here’s a post about RIP Oren G
And so far,
Baby G (missing)
Oren G (dead)