Death comes to us...
Last Wednesday night, 18 May, my beloved cat, Bums decided to challenge the laws of gravity... and died. It sounds funny 'cos it's easier when I mask pain with humour. But some expert on pet loss on the Net says I have to "speak" about my pain, or be doomed forever... So here goes...
I attended a talk at NUS for reefwalk guides and had switched my phone to silent mode. After the talk, I switched my phone back on, only to be bombarded by SMSes. 3 were from my brother. First one said my cat had fallen and was at James Tan Pet Hospital, with directions on how to get there. Second one was about how sorry he was, that it was his fault, that he didn't mean for it to happen. Third one....my cat had passed away.
My brother had forgotten to close the windows when he left the house in the evening. He came home later that night to find the cat missing, looked out the window and saw him 11 floors below, still alive. He rushed him to the pet hospital and tried to get hold of me to no avail.
I was calm throughout. Calm when I called my brother, calm when I reached the vet. But my brother was a mess. He was distraught and overcome by guilt. I stroked, hugged, kissed and said goodbye to my cat for the last time, I calmly made the arrangements for his cremation and went home. I kept telling my brother that I wasn't angry with him, and that it wasn't his fault, and that accidents happen. I guess I remained so calm because I knew losing a cat couldn't be as bad as losing a brother, and I didn't want my younger brother to see me so upset 'cos that would make him feel so much worse.
I finally lost my cool once I got home that night. The first few days following his death were pretty much fucked up. Every painful inch of my flat still reminds me of him. I kept asking myself why his death affected me so much. I kept wondering how I could love an animal more than people. So I surfed a few sites to see if I was abnormal, and found out that psychologists have long acknowledged that grief after losing a pet can be as painful as when you lose a loved one or family member. Only problem is that society may not accept this fact. Cos people think, "It's just a cat" or "It's just a dog". But no one knows what a pet means to you, except yourself.
And so the saga of my life in Singapore begins... For my first few years here, I rented rooms or flats with my only friend here at that time, Shan. A little later, my younger brother joined me too. But we were all working in jobs that required us to be away, at different times, all the time. I spent my first 5 years here, coming home to an empty flat most of the time. I revolved my life around boyfriends' lives, expecting them to spend every single free minute of their time with me, as I would for them, which was of course too much to ask of them. I thought that was what I needed. Their interests became my interests, and I stopped pursuing my dreams, thinking that all I wanted was to get married by 26 and have 3 kids before I turned 30. Instead, I lost my identity altogether and felt even more alone.
Of course I made a few more friends here over the years, but I would still come back to a dark and empty flat each night. Back then, I could never dream of staying single my whole life, and life for me would be complete if I was happily married with a family of my own. And the fact that I've always been so damn "domesticated" made it worse 'cos I just liked staying in all the time, trying to make my house a home.
All that changed when my cat walked into my flat almost 2 years ago. Who would have thought that my knight in shining armour would arrive not in the form of a future husband, but just a cat. A cat who gave me undivided attention, and who loved me unconditionally, and vice versa. We didn't have to worry about cramping each other's style, or getting pissed off about lifting the toilet seat or how a toothpaste tube should be squeezed. I no longer needed to feel like I needed a guy to make my life complete.
My cat and I could live on our own happily ever after, and I could be like those old maids on a rocking chair, doing my cross stitch or crossword puzzles while my cat sat on my lap. And we would have been happy. He was my anchor. My source of comfort and joy. He was my calm after every storm. He left so suddenly and I just couldn't accept it. He was only two and a half years old. Happy, healthy and active. Never in my life have I wanted to turn back time so SO much.
Now I'm back to feeling like a vagabond with no place to call home. Standing outside my flat after work each day, it hurts just to turn the key at the door, 'cos I don't hear him running to the door to greet me. It hurts to wake up each morning, not hearing him scratching at my bedroom door for attention. I can't bear to cook anymore, 'cos he's not there, trying to steal a piece of chicken or lick the soy sauce bottle. I can't study or read 'cos he isn't sitting on my lap to keep me company or sitting right on top of my books and papers to irritate me. I've gone through all the stages of grief since then - denial, depression, guilt, anger... Guilty that I didn't spend enough time with him. Didn't hug him enough, etc, etc, etc.
I wish so much that all this was just one hell of a very sick and twisted dream and I would wake up to find him sitting at the foot of my bed, or hiding among my clothes in the wardrobe. The first few nights I'd go to all his favourite spots around the house, crying my heart out while I pictured him there. Worst of all, I would go to the window and picture him sitting on the ledge that fateful night, looking so happy, enjoying the cool night air as he watched the world go by below him. Then I try to imagine how he fell. Did he jump because he was curious? Did he try to climb back in but lost his footing? Did some asshole in the nearby block scare him till he fell?
And then I picture him on the grass 11 storeys below. How long was he there before my brother found him? I think of the pain and confusion he was going through. Not knowing where he was. So much pain. So much pain. So lost and alone. Crying out for help. Crying out for me but I never came. He was there for me through thick and thin, and I abandoned him when he needed me most. I look at his photos and cry my fucking guts out. I did all of these the first few nights 'cos I wanted to hurt. I wanted to feel the pain and I just didn't want to let go. I had to get through this on my own, and had to feel as much hurt and pain that was humanly possible 'cos I'm just plain masochistic.
I've been in hermit mode since then, not wanting to really talk to anyone about it. The last thing I want to hear is that it was meant to be or that all things happen for a reason. Fuck it! Bad things don't happen for good reasons. When the shit hits the fan, it's only because somehow, somewhere along the way, we screwed up. It's as simple as that but we humans just can't accept that we make mistakes and we try to ease ourselves out of crappy situations by saying it must have happened for "a reason".
I'm not suicidal or anything like that although last Friday I was this close to branding my arm with a hot rod... was holding this metal skewer over the fire for some time and then my brother suddenly walked into the kitchen and I had to scrap my self mutilation plans. Luckily, I'm past that dark stage already. I've managed to crawl out of my shell partially, and got my tongue pierced after work on Saturday. Nothing like some physical pain to numb emotional distress. But I'm suffering from insomnia again 'cos I just lie in bed, letting my thoughts get the better of me. What to do, dunno how to swallow pills, and lagi worse, allergic to alcohol so I can't even try to drink myself to sleep. I either just toss and turn in bed till sunrise, or find stuff to do till it's time to get ready for work.
Then the horror begins at work, trying to stay awake, stay focused, and not snap at my boss! It's loads and loads of coffee during the day, and loads of foundation and a hell of a lot of eyeliner to cover up the eye bags and swollen eyes. I feel like Elvis, minus the drugs, and running on empty. It's like the twilight zone here in my office - everything at a standstill, everyone going about their usual stuff but I'm like stuck in limbo, still churning out work but somewhat in a daze, waiting for 6.15pm which takes forever to arrive.
By Monday, I noticed my brother was still red-eyed and looking like crap so I tried to excorcise my flat of all things cat... deciding which of my cat's stuff to keep and which to throw. Quite a lot of tears shed... over cat toys, cat food, even cat poop. I wasn't ready to let go, but I couldn't let my brother know how affected I was. It's bad enough we hardly talked to each other even before this "tragedy", now he can't even look me in the eye. He left for a flight on Monday night and I was really worried for him. Looking all grown up on the outside, but I still saw him as the boy who kept saying to my dead cat "I'm so, so sorry", over and over again. If I thought the pain I felt was bad, I know the hurt and guilt he's going through is so much worse. I hope he will soon be able to find forgiveness in himself and put all this behind.
Maybe some people don't believe in cat or dog heaven, or don't believe in a heaven at all. But where does your soul or spirit go when your body is dead? If heaven or paradise or nirvana or syurga is your final resting place, filled with all things happy, don't you think there'd also be birds and butterflies and trees and flowers there? So why not cats and dogs? I believe all living beings, be it human or animals, plants or insects (even...... yes, even cockroaches) have a spirit if not a soul. And the spirit will one day find its final resting place, where all live in harmony for eternity. And I know that's where my cat is right now. And as weird as it sounds, one day when my spirit leaves my body, I will go to this same place too. 'Cos heaven wouldn't be heaven without the ones I've loved and lost.
It's been a week now, and I still miss him so much, but ayo... what to do, what to do... My cat meant the world to me, and I loved him like no other... Things are getting better, I'm learning to let go, trying to pick up the pieces and just really really looking forward to my exams for once 'cos at least I'll be on 2 weeks leave then. Somewhere in the world, at this very second, someone weeps --- for a loved one, a lost hope, a failed marriage, a broken dream, or a big mistake that can't be undone. Say a prayer for the broken hearted...
Last Wednesday night, 18 May, my beloved cat, Bums decided to challenge the laws of gravity... and died. It sounds funny 'cos it's easier when I mask pain with humour. But some expert on pet loss on the Net says I have to "speak" about my pain, or be doomed forever... So here goes...
I attended a talk at NUS for reefwalk guides and had switched my phone to silent mode. After the talk, I switched my phone back on, only to be bombarded by SMSes. 3 were from my brother. First one said my cat had fallen and was at James Tan Pet Hospital, with directions on how to get there. Second one was about how sorry he was, that it was his fault, that he didn't mean for it to happen. Third one....my cat had passed away.
My brother had forgotten to close the windows when he left the house in the evening. He came home later that night to find the cat missing, looked out the window and saw him 11 floors below, still alive. He rushed him to the pet hospital and tried to get hold of me to no avail.
I was calm throughout. Calm when I called my brother, calm when I reached the vet. But my brother was a mess. He was distraught and overcome by guilt. I stroked, hugged, kissed and said goodbye to my cat for the last time, I calmly made the arrangements for his cremation and went home. I kept telling my brother that I wasn't angry with him, and that it wasn't his fault, and that accidents happen. I guess I remained so calm because I knew losing a cat couldn't be as bad as losing a brother, and I didn't want my younger brother to see me so upset 'cos that would make him feel so much worse.
I finally lost my cool once I got home that night. The first few days following his death were pretty much fucked up. Every painful inch of my flat still reminds me of him. I kept asking myself why his death affected me so much. I kept wondering how I could love an animal more than people. So I surfed a few sites to see if I was abnormal, and found out that psychologists have long acknowledged that grief after losing a pet can be as painful as when you lose a loved one or family member. Only problem is that society may not accept this fact. Cos people think, "It's just a cat" or "It's just a dog". But no one knows what a pet means to you, except yourself.
And so the saga of my life in Singapore begins... For my first few years here, I rented rooms or flats with my only friend here at that time, Shan. A little later, my younger brother joined me too. But we were all working in jobs that required us to be away, at different times, all the time. I spent my first 5 years here, coming home to an empty flat most of the time. I revolved my life around boyfriends' lives, expecting them to spend every single free minute of their time with me, as I would for them, which was of course too much to ask of them. I thought that was what I needed. Their interests became my interests, and I stopped pursuing my dreams, thinking that all I wanted was to get married by 26 and have 3 kids before I turned 30. Instead, I lost my identity altogether and felt even more alone.
Of course I made a few more friends here over the years, but I would still come back to a dark and empty flat each night. Back then, I could never dream of staying single my whole life, and life for me would be complete if I was happily married with a family of my own. And the fact that I've always been so damn "domesticated" made it worse 'cos I just liked staying in all the time, trying to make my house a home.
All that changed when my cat walked into my flat almost 2 years ago. Who would have thought that my knight in shining armour would arrive not in the form of a future husband, but just a cat. A cat who gave me undivided attention, and who loved me unconditionally, and vice versa. We didn't have to worry about cramping each other's style, or getting pissed off about lifting the toilet seat or how a toothpaste tube should be squeezed. I no longer needed to feel like I needed a guy to make my life complete.
My cat and I could live on our own happily ever after, and I could be like those old maids on a rocking chair, doing my cross stitch or crossword puzzles while my cat sat on my lap. And we would have been happy. He was my anchor. My source of comfort and joy. He was my calm after every storm. He left so suddenly and I just couldn't accept it. He was only two and a half years old. Happy, healthy and active. Never in my life have I wanted to turn back time so SO much.
Now I'm back to feeling like a vagabond with no place to call home. Standing outside my flat after work each day, it hurts just to turn the key at the door, 'cos I don't hear him running to the door to greet me. It hurts to wake up each morning, not hearing him scratching at my bedroom door for attention. I can't bear to cook anymore, 'cos he's not there, trying to steal a piece of chicken or lick the soy sauce bottle. I can't study or read 'cos he isn't sitting on my lap to keep me company or sitting right on top of my books and papers to irritate me. I've gone through all the stages of grief since then - denial, depression, guilt, anger... Guilty that I didn't spend enough time with him. Didn't hug him enough, etc, etc, etc.
I wish so much that all this was just one hell of a very sick and twisted dream and I would wake up to find him sitting at the foot of my bed, or hiding among my clothes in the wardrobe. The first few nights I'd go to all his favourite spots around the house, crying my heart out while I pictured him there. Worst of all, I would go to the window and picture him sitting on the ledge that fateful night, looking so happy, enjoying the cool night air as he watched the world go by below him. Then I try to imagine how he fell. Did he jump because he was curious? Did he try to climb back in but lost his footing? Did some asshole in the nearby block scare him till he fell?
And then I picture him on the grass 11 storeys below. How long was he there before my brother found him? I think of the pain and confusion he was going through. Not knowing where he was. So much pain. So much pain. So lost and alone. Crying out for help. Crying out for me but I never came. He was there for me through thick and thin, and I abandoned him when he needed me most. I look at his photos and cry my fucking guts out. I did all of these the first few nights 'cos I wanted to hurt. I wanted to feel the pain and I just didn't want to let go. I had to get through this on my own, and had to feel as much hurt and pain that was humanly possible 'cos I'm just plain masochistic.
I've been in hermit mode since then, not wanting to really talk to anyone about it. The last thing I want to hear is that it was meant to be or that all things happen for a reason. Fuck it! Bad things don't happen for good reasons. When the shit hits the fan, it's only because somehow, somewhere along the way, we screwed up. It's as simple as that but we humans just can't accept that we make mistakes and we try to ease ourselves out of crappy situations by saying it must have happened for "a reason".
I'm not suicidal or anything like that although last Friday I was this close to branding my arm with a hot rod... was holding this metal skewer over the fire for some time and then my brother suddenly walked into the kitchen and I had to scrap my self mutilation plans. Luckily, I'm past that dark stage already. I've managed to crawl out of my shell partially, and got my tongue pierced after work on Saturday. Nothing like some physical pain to numb emotional distress. But I'm suffering from insomnia again 'cos I just lie in bed, letting my thoughts get the better of me. What to do, dunno how to swallow pills, and lagi worse, allergic to alcohol so I can't even try to drink myself to sleep. I either just toss and turn in bed till sunrise, or find stuff to do till it's time to get ready for work.
Then the horror begins at work, trying to stay awake, stay focused, and not snap at my boss! It's loads and loads of coffee during the day, and loads of foundation and a hell of a lot of eyeliner to cover up the eye bags and swollen eyes. I feel like Elvis, minus the drugs, and running on empty. It's like the twilight zone here in my office - everything at a standstill, everyone going about their usual stuff but I'm like stuck in limbo, still churning out work but somewhat in a daze, waiting for 6.15pm which takes forever to arrive.
By Monday, I noticed my brother was still red-eyed and looking like crap so I tried to excorcise my flat of all things cat... deciding which of my cat's stuff to keep and which to throw. Quite a lot of tears shed... over cat toys, cat food, even cat poop. I wasn't ready to let go, but I couldn't let my brother know how affected I was. It's bad enough we hardly talked to each other even before this "tragedy", now he can't even look me in the eye. He left for a flight on Monday night and I was really worried for him. Looking all grown up on the outside, but I still saw him as the boy who kept saying to my dead cat "I'm so, so sorry", over and over again. If I thought the pain I felt was bad, I know the hurt and guilt he's going through is so much worse. I hope he will soon be able to find forgiveness in himself and put all this behind.
Maybe some people don't believe in cat or dog heaven, or don't believe in a heaven at all. But where does your soul or spirit go when your body is dead? If heaven or paradise or nirvana or syurga is your final resting place, filled with all things happy, don't you think there'd also be birds and butterflies and trees and flowers there? So why not cats and dogs? I believe all living beings, be it human or animals, plants or insects (even...... yes, even cockroaches) have a spirit if not a soul. And the spirit will one day find its final resting place, where all live in harmony for eternity. And I know that's where my cat is right now. And as weird as it sounds, one day when my spirit leaves my body, I will go to this same place too. 'Cos heaven wouldn't be heaven without the ones I've loved and lost.
It's been a week now, and I still miss him so much, but ayo... what to do, what to do... My cat meant the world to me, and I loved him like no other... Things are getting better, I'm learning to let go, trying to pick up the pieces and just really really looking forward to my exams for once 'cos at least I'll be on 2 weeks leave then. Somewhere in the world, at this very second, someone weeps --- for a loved one, a lost hope, a failed marriage, a broken dream, or a big mistake that can't be undone. Say a prayer for the broken hearted...
