beingbeaple

While the rest of my fellow Wisdumbians are probably buried in their Visual.Net photocopies I am blogging. Bummer. What a diligent model student I am. But seriously, I don’t feel up to the task of studying for anything right now, not for Accounting remedial class tomorrow or for Computer practicum. As in, I don’t even feel like starting on my term paper! (My topic, by the way, is Witchcraft in the Philippines. I know the subject ought to be debatable, and I’m fully aware there is, without a doubt, a continuing line of witchcraft and barang in the Philippines, but still…)

I would attribute this laziness of mine to the sad story my Manang Em told me after dinner tonight. It turns out the kitten who was hiding in the alcove - yup, the one my back ached over - fell off its hidey-hole, bumped its head on a rock, and convulsed like crazy. Swear, I nearly burst into big, fat tears. I can just imagine it wincing and writhing in pain, with its mother doing nothing but dragging it someplace else by the neck.

My manang said the kitty tried to test its jumping skills by jumping off its ledge, thinking it would manage. It failed dismally, nearly cracking its head open in the process. I’m sure that if that kitten gets to be older, it will somehow awaken its innate ability to jump off high places and land on its four feet - or shall I say paws? But ain’t it sad? Cats are given the naturally ability to (almost) always land on their own feet but the don’t have emotions like we do. They can feel, all right, but they can’t go on full emo level and they can’t sing love songs or cry over love songs or write love songs when they’re feeling sad and lonely.

But is their inability to feel their greatest disadvantage or their greatest advantage?

I feel so FC with cats because, unlike a certain person I know, I have sentimental stories with them. Mother cats always give birth in our house for some reason, so little kitties that can’t open their eyes yet are commonplace here. (My parents say it’s good luck and I think so, too.) When I was younger I became quite attached to my pet black and white cat whom I named Oliver (after Oliver Twist, who I thought was a cat and not a boy from some famous novel) but he ran away after getting his own mother, a pure white cat, pregnant. Before, a large black cat - I thought of him as Oliver’s dad because Oliver’s mom is white and he’s black, so yeah - used to cross our neighbor’s roof late at night and my manang then would scare me and say that’s a witch’s cat. There was also the time when my father kept ACCIDENTALLY running over little kittens playing with the wheels of our car - gosh, that was the saddest part of all. But the cats suddenly disappeared, our house became devoid of meows and purrs and catfights, and I became more aware of the world that didn’t revolve around my pets’ antics.

So I guess you could understand why I’m making such a big deal out of a stray kitten that lodged itself on my neighbor’s roof, fell off and had a seizure.

Poof!

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 22nd, 2007 at 4:27 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.