Grief
First published in The Owl Falcon, January 1, 2024
Here,
everything is connected to Tenten.
Zabutons—a Japanese flat cushion
wherein she had six to choose from
whether to sit or sleep
whenever she likes.
Her scratches
on tatami edges.
Tatami is a Japanese mat
covered with tightly-woven grass and rice straw.
Some tiny pieces are torn out of mats by her relentless
scratches.
They are frayed and damaged beyond repair.
A sunny spot,
behind the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony,
where she loved sprawling languidly.
At times, she even bent over backwards
very quickly to stretch
although she was usually hunched.
She had an exceptionally limber body,
so soft she could flex every part of it
freely and smoothly.
I always admired her movement.
I still see her slender figure
in her favorite spots
in the house.
So, I call her. Loudly.
I shout out her name. Repeatedly.
Persistently.
In doing so,
I pretend to believe that
she is still alive.
When I come home,
I call out, “Tadaima! (I’m home!)”
to let her know that I’m back. Then,
I search for the place where she sleeps.
Even she hears me calling her,
she doesn’t show up.
Neither does she take the trouble of
answering me.
She keeps lying down with her head up,
with folded arms and legs
under her body, and observes me
until I find her.
When I say, “Ah, here you are!”
she just gazes at me quietly.
That’s what I usually see each time
I got home before dark.
So, I simply continue this routine.
Even after she’s gone.
Whenever I go out, I keep in mind
where I last saw her.
And upon returning,
I check if she still stays in the same spot
or has moved to her other favorite place.
The only difference now is that
I cannot find her anywhere,
anymore.
Then I go out to the balcony where
I keep the large wooden planter where
I buried her.
I had prepared this cube flowerpot
for that purpose,
when she turned 20.
That was three years ago.
I completely understand that
she enjoyed a longer and healthier life.
And she was blessed by the gods
with a natural death.
What more could I wish for?
But the fact is,
the longer we stayed and
grew older together,
the more endearing and treasured
she became to me.
She was no longer just a lovely cute kitty
who was appreciated by everybody,
but has become my most precious partner
in life.
Our relationship of over two decades is
more than enough for me
to make such a claim, I believe.
It was time for her
to cross over into the afterlife.
But still, it’s hard to be logical
with this bereavement.
Until now,
I behave as if she is alive.