Saturday, September 6, 2008
IN LOVING MEMORY OF 小垃圾
This whole month had been a reminder, not a gentle one, of a violent truth of how fragile life is.
life is very fragile.
it sat there, stinking of urine, shit and garbage.
it sat there in that stinky cardboard box, gazing at the sky, observing the clouds.
it gazes dreamily, as if looking at a breathtaking scenery.
Meow~ i approached, and it turned it's head towards me.
Eow~ it meowed incompletely.
2 weeks, my guess is its 2 weeks old.
14days on earth and never full.
it felt unlike a kitten, it's not only scorny, the fur, is hard from rain and all its waste and mud.
it crawled hungrily onto me and gulped down a whole serving of milk.
i tried to clean it up a little but to no avail, its really filthy.
this littlepiece of garbage slept on my palm.
i wrapped it with a clean piece of cloth and left for school.
we returned and brought it up to andy's and gave it 4rounds of good scrub.
the waste water that flowed down from its tiny body is brown.
the little piece of garbage has a lump on its back and a little bald patch on its forehead.
we blew it dry with the hair dryer.
it got too tired for milk.
it slept in the bed i made for it in my shoe.
then it slept in the bed we made it in a new cardboard box.
we woke it up to feed it milk but it was too tired for any.
it slept.
next day morning the boys tried to feed it but to no avail.
it was getting real weak.
i rushed it down to the vet.
contacted and agreed to met its adopting family there at the vet.
it woke up.
growled and looked at me.
hugged my finger to sleep while we were sitting at the bus stop waiting for the vet to opet in 15minutes.
it opened its eyes. and gazed at me. the way it gazed at the sky.
no. not right. paws felt icy cold.
eyes still open.
no.not right. not responding.
carried it up. totally no control of limbs.
no. not right. no more pants.
shook it hard and slapped it hard.
no. not right. no reaction. eyes still open, as if still gazing at me.
no. not right.
dead.
i stroked it on its forehead the way i always do to close the eyes of cats.
the eyes wouldn't close, but a drop of tear flowed out and emptied it's teary eyes.
life
is
fragile
.
[took on the corridor by the steps where I found it. after gulping down the milk.]
As we stand by the side and witness how fragile life is, we tell ourselves that we gotta be strong.
This is so ironic as we ourselves, are feeding on this fragile piece of life given to us as well.
I guess we just have to shake off the mindset that we are destined to be the luckier ones blessed with food, shelter and warmth and humbly bow to the fragility of life. I guess only the real sense of probability of death and sufferings can lead a man to reckon that all power beseeched upon mankind exists momentarily and the real joy of life come from cherishing.
This little piece of garbage leeched onto every bit of life beseeched upon it's scorny body and gazed the sky with awe. There is pleasure and magic at every corner of earth and it's up to us to gaze at it with the eyes of little garbage or to mourn over our withering petals.
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