Ramadhan's Surprise; A Tribute

I’ve never experienced losing something I really love. However, the thought of being left or being the one who leave never seemed to cease coming to my mind. When will it comes? Who’s next? Will I be ready? Though I cannot feel it, it’s like the death was coming towards me creeping slowly through people I know.

It is this time.

The death is waiting for me when I came home for Ramadan this year. The death was for waiting me, to take away my close friend.

Tompok.

I would love to think, Tompok was actually waiting for me to come home. She has been sick for nearly a week, as mak told me. She didn’t eat, frequently laid herself down every day. When I first met her yesterday, she was so thin. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at me. I took her and hugged her hard, as never to let go.

Deep down inside, I thought of becoming ready, for me to be left.

After Maghrib, Tompok climb on my bed, as she usually does. I sat with her, yet she didn’t say a word. Not even a voice. Suddenly, Tompok’s body went stiff, and shaking. Her eyes wide open. At first I ran out of my room, I didn’t know what to do, and mostly because I was afraid to see her being sick.

I never see her suffer. She was beautiful before, always being meticulous of herself. Tompok has always carried with her a sense of pride and content.

But then, I rushed to her, took her into my arms and stroked her softly. I want to make it best, if these were our last time together.

The next morning after Fajr, Tompok went down to the kitchen. I gave her bowl of water. I put her on the sofa, one of her favorite spots and sat down with her. We put our head together and she pushed her nose towards mine. At about 9 a.m, as I was watching Harry Potter with Tompok in my arms, she went stiff and shaking again.
It was worse that time. Tompok pushed her hands and legs around, struggling to catch her breath. Her eyes wide open, locking my stare.

It hurt me.

It hurt me so because she couldn’t talk. She couldn’t tell me how painful it was. And I couldn’t do better but to stroke her hair and soothe her.

Tompok.

My Tompok.

My One and Only Tompok.

Then I noticed blood. I rush to mak. Soon after, abah and I were in the car on our way to the vets. We put Tompok on pile of clothes in the box. She didn’t move, only her eyes were blinking.

Even if there was least hope, that’s the best thing we could do.

Tompok got two injections. We were given a syringe and her medicine of antibiotics. I was beginning to hope that Tompok could be better, that I would be able to see her playing around again.

At home, Tompok seemed to be improving. She stayed put and from time to time adjusting her posture, trying to be comfortable. I sat with her, stroking her face and head. She pushed her nose into my hand.

It was just a few minutes. I browsed through some web pages. As mak called me to help her with the cookies, I looked at Tompok and both mak and I agreed that she was sleeping.

No.

As I was stroking her face, and trying to slightly put her bent head right, I sensed something was wrong. She was heavy, and cold. And there are no breaths. I straight away knew Tompok has left me.

I sat in front of her for a few minutes, trying to see if there could be some movement. I was actually hoping that there could be some movement.

No.

Its 7th Ramadan and Tompok now gone.

In that box, she seems to be lost in her sleep, so peaceful, so calm. And I missed her already.

She would wake up surprised and shocked when she hears the vacuum hums, but she didn’t. She would run straight to me whenever I open the door each evening looking for her, but she didn’t. She would open her eyes small every time I stroke her hair when she is in deep sleep, but she didn’t.

Tompok.

My Tompok.

My one and only Tompok.

It’s still like having Tompok around. I still see her coming down from upstairs with her sleepy eyes. I still feel her trailing me in the kitchen, waiting me finish my chores. I still hear her voices, angry when I continuously teasing her.

Ah, yes. That’s really does sounds like Tompok.

I really want to know what happen to cats when they died. Where is Tompok now? Does she miss me as much as I miss her? Although it’s just a few hours since she left. Is she happy now? Is she somewhere near, looking at me? Or when she dies, she just gone? Just like that?

I really want to know.

I just want to know, whether she loves me as much as I love her for our time spent together since last six years? Was she happy living with me and my family? Did she know how much she meant to me?

I know, you think I’m crazy, but no. I am not.

Tompok is more than just a cat. We are like friends. We are like sisters. She knows me. I know her.

Both of us are happy being single, and we were proud about that. We both have the same ability of scaring away our male counterparts. And that’s why, Tompok never had a kitten.

She is the one who would wake me up each morning, with all means possible from pushing my leg with her head, walking over my body, licking my face and nose and even, urinating on my pillow (well, that was just once).

We even fight, like every normal sister does. The different is that, I got some permanent scar on my hand.

I talk to her. I cry in front of her. I watch movies with her. We even eat on the same plate sometimes.

Without me realizing, Tompok is the best thing ever happened in my life.

Its 7th Ramadan and Tompok now gone.