There were yellow butterflies (or moths?) hovering over the bougainvillea blooms on the planter boxes along Buendia when I buried the remains of my dear feline friend, Waka. 4pm, grey skies threatening rain. It's good that I still wear a filtration mask as I was crying again. To be honest, I didn't really want to undergo the trauma of burying another foster stray. The planter boxes near the railway is littered with the remains of feline friends I've lost over the past 3 or so years. It's trauma-inducing but I want to honor the memory of Waka aka Kristoff, whom I've been feeding for the past 3 or so years, since the pandemic lockdowns.
I had an inkling that his health was compromised when over the last two weeks or so, he has not been grooming himself. Had I had the resources, I would've brought him to the vet early on. But as it is, I've been struggling with finances, as I've had been the past four years. These are the times when I've really losing whatever shred of faith in whatever god has been indoctrinated into my head all my life before I woke up to the fact that if there is indeed a god, it may not have my best interest in mind.
I've lost a lot of foster strays. You'd think that I've be immune to the sadness, the depression, the heartbreak but you don't get used to it. Each one is heartbreaking, maybe more than the others before it. I just wish that somehow, after I myself cross the rainbow bridge, I'd be reunited with all the sentient beings I've cared for.
I still look at the shop window of the Asian store downstairs every time I pass by, hoping to take a glimpse of my little boy, Waka. Old habits die hard. I miss you little boy. Until we meet again.
P.S. I keep having phantom tails and paws either passing by my legs or calling my attention so many times. I keep thinking it's my rescue, Alvin, but each time, I see her asleep far from where I sit. In any case, that gives me comfort that my foster strays haven't forgotten me. Until we see each other, I'd hold you all in my heart.
