R.I.P, My Soul...
I never imagined I'd write such a post ever in my life. Being so optimistic and positive about all the things in my life, a thought of such an incident never crossed my mind.
11 March, 2011. My only cat Mini gave birth to three kittens. At first we were worried. We had never thought of raising one cat, and had been gifted with four!
The cats grew up, and filled our life with many colorful memories. They were pretty healthy, except for occasional sickness, such as cold. They would sneeze for a day or two, then they came round again.
Our fears started to peak when all three of the babies got some sort of diarrhoea. We don't live in a very well developed country, so having very good vets and good treatment is actually far beyond our imagination. But still my dad went to this local hospital and asked a vet what could be done about this. That moron suggested that the cats be given human medicines, and told him that there was no alternative.
That night we tried a lot to force the babies to take our medicines. Dad bought metronidazole (I'm sorry if I've misspelled it) tablets and syrup-both for them. The tablets were crushed and mixed with their food. But they smelled it and drifted away-probably because of the bitter smell that was coming from it. After that we tried to open their mouth by force and give them the syrup with dropper. We had no success with that either.
After doing a little bit of research in the internet, I decided to give them Horlicks with their milk. They weren't happy about it either, but two of them actually drank it. After a couple of days we gave up hope. Mom made a diet routine for the cats, and after a period of about one month of strict diet, the cats were well again.
Their mother was pregnant again by the time they were about 4/5 months old. Mini would hiss whenever the kittens came close to her. I don't know why she used to do that. Maybe she was scared that her previous babies would do harm to her new babies. We couldn't find a better explanation.
The cats kept us entertained. The bigger one was a male ( I guess all the male cats are bigger than the female ones), we called him Baashi, which means 'flute' in english, the second one pufee and the third one shoshikola. I think I've given enough details on them in the first post of this blog, so I wouldn't want to go through them all over again.
Although I loved all three of them, Baashi was the closest to my heart. I didn't know what it was, but after his birth, the moment I saw him, I felt a kind of strong affection for that little thing. I loved it more than the other two.
He ate the most-mom was always angry because Baashi kept screaming until mom gave him food when he was hungry. I loved the way he ran throughout the house, playing with the other cats. At night, he would sleep with either me, or with my parents. Dad tried to get him a separate bed, but he wouldn't sleep there.
Baashi was more loved than the other cats by his mother as well. Whenever Mini would go for hunting, she would bring rats and give them only to him. Pufee and Shoshi would run after her, but they never got any share of the rat.
One day Baashi got very sick. He had probably fell down from somewhere and broke his neck. Poor thing couldn't even walk properly. His head would hang lifelessly if he tried to do so. The pain was intolerable I guess, because there were times when he wasn't sleeping, but he would quietly lie down and look into nothingness, as if his body was here, but his mind drifted elsewhere. But thanks to the almighty that he relived him of this pain within seven days.
There were times when Baashi would stop eating, but he never did that for more than three days. Mom assumed that there were times when cats lost apetite, but they soon got them back.
About ten days ago, Baashi stopped eating again.
We thought he was probably sick, or got the cold. But after 5 days passed we started to worry. He wolud leave the house early at morning to sit in the sun (it's the end of winter here, but our house is still as cold as a refrigerator, no kidding!) and would return home late at night. Mom cooked all of his favorite fish but he wouldn't even touch him. He vomitted a lot.
Three days ago, mom found blood in the bathroom. I was in college then.
I urged dad again and again to take him to the doctor, but he didn't have enough time because of his works. But after forcing a lot, he visited the doctor two days ago. The doctor (I don't know if it was the same guy who had prescribed human medicine to my cats) told dad to take Baashi to him. He told him baashi might need saline and some injections, if the case was not fatal.
Meanwhile Baashi grew weaker and weaker. He wouldn't eat anything but water.
I prayed to God to let him live. I asked him to take a day from my life and give it to him. Maybe God had listened to my prayers. Baashi seemed much better yesterday. He went to the bathroom, and then came back to drink water. After that he went to the sofa and lied down beside that.
We misunderstood his behavior. He had probably understood that he didn't have much time left, and so wanted to spend more time with the only ones he had ever known as a family.
After a painful night, Baashi left us this morning.
Mom woke me at about eight in the morning, to see for the last time what was left of him. All I saw was the body of a cat, that was not my Baashi. No, I'm sure it wasn't. He was never that quiet.
I sat on the floor crying, wishing if I could rewind everything and go back ten days, just ten days. I would do anything to keep him alive. Or I could just hold him to me, wouldn't have let him go out at all. Maybe then he would live. Maybe then I would listen to his meow again after waking up today.
Dad buried him in our garden, wrapped up in one of his shirts.
Who to blame for this death? The disease that he had gotten? The poor treatment system for animals of our country? Or us because we couldn't take it more seriously? But what's the point of blaming anyone anyway? What's lost has been lost, it cannot be undone. I will never hold Baashi in my arms again. I will never play with him. I will never hear his soft meow. I will never have to be angry again for waking up at six in the morning and having to open the door of my room to let him out in the dining room.
My Baashi loved sweets, Jilapi. He loved biscuits, cakes, fish. I would always give him the bones whenever I ate chicken. He loved boxes. Whenever he saw an empty one, he would go and sit inside it. We always laughed and said, "There is Baashi, in his new car!" Baashi will never ride another car again. My bed stands empty in my room. Baashi will never come and sleep on that again.
I don't know for how many days or months, or maybe years, the memories of him will haunt me, because this house is so full of his memories. The ribbon that he wore on his neck is still here, empty, waiting for to be worn again. No one has dared to touch that after this morning. My computer and phone is full of his photos and videos. How can I not look at them at all? I haven't been able to stop crying since morning. Wish I could bring him back, just for once.
Mom said that dying has relieved him from the pain that he was enduring all those days. But what about the pain his leaving has given us? No one can answer.
If you read this, please keep my request, pray for my cat. I don't know if God has made a heaven for animals, or if they have any afterlife, but I want him to be happy wherever he is now, or will be in. This cat was sewn to my soul. The loss is unbearable. But it's out of my hands. I can do nothing but relive the moments with him in my head and just pray, that no other person in the world ever has to go through the experience that I'm going through now.
R.I.P Baashi, R.I.P, my soul...
11 March, 2011. My only cat Mini gave birth to three kittens. At first we were worried. We had never thought of raising one cat, and had been gifted with four!
The cats grew up, and filled our life with many colorful memories. They were pretty healthy, except for occasional sickness, such as cold. They would sneeze for a day or two, then they came round again.
Our fears started to peak when all three of the babies got some sort of diarrhoea. We don't live in a very well developed country, so having very good vets and good treatment is actually far beyond our imagination. But still my dad went to this local hospital and asked a vet what could be done about this. That moron suggested that the cats be given human medicines, and told him that there was no alternative.
That night we tried a lot to force the babies to take our medicines. Dad bought metronidazole (I'm sorry if I've misspelled it) tablets and syrup-both for them. The tablets were crushed and mixed with their food. But they smelled it and drifted away-probably because of the bitter smell that was coming from it. After that we tried to open their mouth by force and give them the syrup with dropper. We had no success with that either.
After doing a little bit of research in the internet, I decided to give them Horlicks with their milk. They weren't happy about it either, but two of them actually drank it. After a couple of days we gave up hope. Mom made a diet routine for the cats, and after a period of about one month of strict diet, the cats were well again.
Their mother was pregnant again by the time they were about 4/5 months old. Mini would hiss whenever the kittens came close to her. I don't know why she used to do that. Maybe she was scared that her previous babies would do harm to her new babies. We couldn't find a better explanation.
The cats kept us entertained. The bigger one was a male ( I guess all the male cats are bigger than the female ones), we called him Baashi, which means 'flute' in english, the second one pufee and the third one shoshikola. I think I've given enough details on them in the first post of this blog, so I wouldn't want to go through them all over again.
Although I loved all three of them, Baashi was the closest to my heart. I didn't know what it was, but after his birth, the moment I saw him, I felt a kind of strong affection for that little thing. I loved it more than the other two.
He ate the most-mom was always angry because Baashi kept screaming until mom gave him food when he was hungry. I loved the way he ran throughout the house, playing with the other cats. At night, he would sleep with either me, or with my parents. Dad tried to get him a separate bed, but he wouldn't sleep there.
Baashi was more loved than the other cats by his mother as well. Whenever Mini would go for hunting, she would bring rats and give them only to him. Pufee and Shoshi would run after her, but they never got any share of the rat.
One day Baashi got very sick. He had probably fell down from somewhere and broke his neck. Poor thing couldn't even walk properly. His head would hang lifelessly if he tried to do so. The pain was intolerable I guess, because there were times when he wasn't sleeping, but he would quietly lie down and look into nothingness, as if his body was here, but his mind drifted elsewhere. But thanks to the almighty that he relived him of this pain within seven days.
There were times when Baashi would stop eating, but he never did that for more than three days. Mom assumed that there were times when cats lost apetite, but they soon got them back.
About ten days ago, Baashi stopped eating again.
We thought he was probably sick, or got the cold. But after 5 days passed we started to worry. He wolud leave the house early at morning to sit in the sun (it's the end of winter here, but our house is still as cold as a refrigerator, no kidding!) and would return home late at night. Mom cooked all of his favorite fish but he wouldn't even touch him. He vomitted a lot.
Three days ago, mom found blood in the bathroom. I was in college then.
I urged dad again and again to take him to the doctor, but he didn't have enough time because of his works. But after forcing a lot, he visited the doctor two days ago. The doctor (I don't know if it was the same guy who had prescribed human medicine to my cats) told dad to take Baashi to him. He told him baashi might need saline and some injections, if the case was not fatal.
Meanwhile Baashi grew weaker and weaker. He wouldn't eat anything but water.
I prayed to God to let him live. I asked him to take a day from my life and give it to him. Maybe God had listened to my prayers. Baashi seemed much better yesterday. He went to the bathroom, and then came back to drink water. After that he went to the sofa and lied down beside that.
We misunderstood his behavior. He had probably understood that he didn't have much time left, and so wanted to spend more time with the only ones he had ever known as a family.
After a painful night, Baashi left us this morning.
Mom woke me at about eight in the morning, to see for the last time what was left of him. All I saw was the body of a cat, that was not my Baashi. No, I'm sure it wasn't. He was never that quiet.
I sat on the floor crying, wishing if I could rewind everything and go back ten days, just ten days. I would do anything to keep him alive. Or I could just hold him to me, wouldn't have let him go out at all. Maybe then he would live. Maybe then I would listen to his meow again after waking up today.
Dad buried him in our garden, wrapped up in one of his shirts.
Who to blame for this death? The disease that he had gotten? The poor treatment system for animals of our country? Or us because we couldn't take it more seriously? But what's the point of blaming anyone anyway? What's lost has been lost, it cannot be undone. I will never hold Baashi in my arms again. I will never play with him. I will never hear his soft meow. I will never have to be angry again for waking up at six in the morning and having to open the door of my room to let him out in the dining room.
My Baashi loved sweets, Jilapi. He loved biscuits, cakes, fish. I would always give him the bones whenever I ate chicken. He loved boxes. Whenever he saw an empty one, he would go and sit inside it. We always laughed and said, "There is Baashi, in his new car!" Baashi will never ride another car again. My bed stands empty in my room. Baashi will never come and sleep on that again.
I don't know for how many days or months, or maybe years, the memories of him will haunt me, because this house is so full of his memories. The ribbon that he wore on his neck is still here, empty, waiting for to be worn again. No one has dared to touch that after this morning. My computer and phone is full of his photos and videos. How can I not look at them at all? I haven't been able to stop crying since morning. Wish I could bring him back, just for once.
Mom said that dying has relieved him from the pain that he was enduring all those days. But what about the pain his leaving has given us? No one can answer.
If you read this, please keep my request, pray for my cat. I don't know if God has made a heaven for animals, or if they have any afterlife, but I want him to be happy wherever he is now, or will be in. This cat was sewn to my soul. The loss is unbearable. But it's out of my hands. I can do nothing but relive the moments with him in my head and just pray, that no other person in the world ever has to go through the experience that I'm going through now.
R.I.P Baashi, R.I.P, my soul...
:'(
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