Hush
Marion Difuntorum
(*This story I wrote when I was University Researcher at Cordillera Studies Center, the research arm of the University of the Philippines Baguio. Hush was a stray who resided in the vicinity of the Center grounds. She was “my cat in the office”.)
I always though she was a cool lady, matching those black rubber shoes with her striped gray coat. A bandit, she was, descending like a fog and running away with Badong’s food – or Ramon’s. She was queen of the Cordillera Studies Center (CSC) neighborhood, wrestling away those who dared tread her ground. Those who came unannounced merited a nasty swipe from her razor sharp claws. So when it was time to christen her, I chose the name Hush (over Ash and its vernacular translation, Dapu) for she was quiet as a shadow but sleek as the wind.
Hush was a mackerel tabby, a very apt description for a cat whose coat mimicked the mackerel’s skin (other cats are referred to as silver tabby, orange marmalade, and so on). She was just another casual bystander then, coming and going on those little black-soled feet. She kept her wild side intact, always scampering to safety at the sight of Badong. But I started to feed her so I might one day stroke that soft coat and mostly, to discourage her from having garbage for her staple food.
And Hush consented to domestication. Badong moved upstairs to the College area and Hush became a regular feature of the CSC landscape, masquerading as a smooth river rock of the garden stonewalls or as a sandstone sculpture sitting among the rain lilies. Still, she would often appear impromptu and frighten visitors and staff alike.
Her daily routine became predictable so a slight digression would always trigger worry. But she always came back, whether from a sojourn upstairs (she often represented me in Monday morning flag ceremonies) or from her mothering chores. Days started with Hush greeting me as I unlock our office door (she would spend her nights at the CSC research room, as evidenced by the soiled ergonomic chair of Alice or the messed up pile of newspapers). Then it would be feeding time before nine in the morning. In between the feeding bouts, Hush would stroll outside her area of responsibility or doze off in the garden. By 4:30 in the afternoon she would stir from her deep slumber only to continue her dreams atop my warmed up UPS. And, like clockwork, she would ask for food as 5:00.
On April 23, 2004, Hush had a miscarriage. She once got over this same condition but not this second time around. She came through with her ovaro-hysterectomy (removal of the ovaries and uterus) but it came a tad too late. She died May 4, less than a day after surgery, from sepsis (an infection of the bloodstream by toxin-producing bacteria) secondary to pyometra, an infection of the uterus.
I buried her at home, in the memorial plot for our beloved pets. Three rain lilies mark her grave. In time, the bulbs will replicate, covering the plot, their budes opening into pale violet blooms. These will remind me how Hush decided one day to let me into her life.
Author: Marion Difuntorum
Country: New Zealand
True story: Yes
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