Get your own
 diary at DiaryLand.com! contact me older entries

Jiquirito

09 February 2005 - 10:25

"It's the most beautiful pain... to have loved someone and then give them up to the cold arms of death..." --BB of the Closet Clan

Yeah. Little bitch doesn't know what she's talking about. My poor Jiquiro... there goes the last of my gray animals. First Phoenix bird-bird, and now this. Mi Jiquiro, bola, cola-de-pino... I miss him so much... but it's funny, y'know. I shouldn't miss him. Damn cat's in the dining room, just there, lying on the floor. Apart from the fact that he's dead, of course, but I can still see the bastard. What is there to miss? He's there, right there, RIGHT THERE, lookit him, can't you see him? So what if he can't mew no more? So what if his eyeballs are popped out of their sockets? I have him with me, don't I? Here I hold his blood-splattered collar, here in my lap. And even after I bury him, he will always be with me. That's what pictures are for. I've had that cat for almost three damn years, since he was less than a month old. He used to fit in my cupped hands. He would swing from the drapes as a kitten, a furious, fast ball of silver. Raccoon often had to dicipline him with his paw, but they loved each other. It was Raccoon that taught him to be clean. Taught him how to take a bath. He used to give himself a bath, and sometimes me, too. He was very clean, and he was soft and warm and gray. Gray. Like me, like a cloudy day. We were both cloudy days. He used to like Eminem when he was a kitten, he purred when he heard the rap. He liked to eat french fries, even to the point where he ate too many and then puked. Then I had to get him away from his vomit because he wanted to eat that shit. He loved Kelly, and he loved Mammas. They both died before him, and he was so lonely. He watched them die. Both of them. And he became stoic, like me, and he stopped crying. He stopped mewing, too. He just rasped out, mouthed it, like Kelly used to. But Kelly rasped because of his damaged vocal chords. Jiqui-bo just did that because he was tired of crying, like me. But in those rare times, when he would smile, he had the most beautifully quiet purr. He would purr, just for me. Rarely for anyone else. And he remembered people. He was charming, the fucker. Mi T�a Julia hated cats, but she came to visit and she fell in love with Jiquirito. He would knock on the door so she would let him in, even though he never did that around us. He knew just how to win people over. And he ran away from Mar�a everytime she came to visit, because she squeezed him too hard. But he loved to beg for her scraps, and she was happy to give them. He was a great guy. Was. Because he's dead. And even though I can see him now, if I wish, by walking over to the dining room and removing the towel that hides the bloody mess he has become, he is still gone. Gone far, far away but in no galaxy. I can't reach him now... he's gone from me. And I knew the day would come, but I always thought he'd outlive all the other animals I surround myself with. I imagined us growing old together, my only companion because who the fuck needs marriage? He was to be my friend for life, and I would watch him get arthritis, and he would comfort me when I got diabetes and we'd never forget each other, even after we both got Alzheimer's. But none of that will happen now. He's been my longest-lasting pet, and people will say three years is nothing, but they're full of memory. When two people go through so much pain and death together, they get close. And we got close, closer than anyone. We knew, deep down, that we only had each other, because no one else seemed to last. But he didn't last either, I'm alone again, and the bloodline of Micheal Peter is broken, and so is my heart. I will always miss, till the day I die, my Huevo, Huevo, Huevo.

previous - next