“The Dying Kitten”

I went downstairs one sunny afternoon to take a break at my work in the computer. I saw a little commotion at the front door. Everybody’s eyes were on something that looked urgent. I drew near and learned what it was. It was a deplorable sight.

Our young male kitten with dark-gray spots lay very ill, looking very weak, sleeping deeply, and breathing hard. They said he might die anytime soon because he would no longer eat and has grown weaker and weaker with each passing moment. His twin sister, the kitten with orange spots, accompanied him in his dismal repose. She may have been aware of her brother’s condition and was there by his side to console him. Actually, she was lying atop her brother’s feeble form — the two like stacked pancakes — as if to nurse him.

The sad picture I was I was seeing of our sickly kitten is in contrast with the one who used to run from one corner of the house to the other at lightning speed, fleet of foot. Also at one time, I picked him up after he strayed outside our gate; and he misunderstood me and scratched the back of my hand.

Seeing him now, I wonder if his claws can still be as sharp as to wound me. Perhaps it will remain forever shut in his paws. The two siblings who used to playfully and adorably wrestle with each other, at which game, the gray-furred one always gets to be the subdued, are now perfectly inert and forlorn before my eyes.

While I was at the sink to drink water, I saw the little guy struggling to walk towards my direction. This made me a little hopeful. If he can still walk about, I thought, though limping, maybe he could still heal. I therefore took some pansit, which was the special treat cooked that afternoon, put it in his feeding plate, and presented it to him. He trudgingly turned to it; but then, to my dismay, he declined to eat and turned away. Instead, he resumed his defeated stance, rested his head on the slanted edge of the plate, and slept heavily again.

Then came his mother, our old cat. Apparently aware of her litter’s condition, she brushed him up all over and then lay on her left side to breastfeed her sickly litter. Instead of feeding, the little guy just rested his weary head, neck, and shoulders on the area where he should breastfeed. In his face and tightly-closed eyes could be seen the look of helplessness, as if he finally found refuge in the loving arms of her mother, our old cat, for at least a few more final moments.

I continued my work in the computer. After two hours or so, I felt a back fatigue. I then shut down the computer and reclined to rest for a while. But what was meant to be a short break led to a total nap. When I woke up, I immediately went downstairs and learned that the kitten has died.

by: Marven T. Baldo