This photograph was taken two years ago, on the day when I found this morsel mewing softly near the gutters at the market. Its scrawny body bore fur that was wet and matted with dirt. All of its tiny paws were stuck on one another from the glue trap scattered in the area. There were ringworm lesions in some part of its face and body. Some Good Samaritan must’ve rescued it up from the drain earlier. Judging from the kitten’s mews, it was cold and famished. Its mother was nowhere to be seen.
I was afraid of taking it with me. I’d just moved in to the new apartment and I wasn’t ready to be a pet owner yet again. It glanced at me and I saw its pale blue eyes pleading for life. I picked it up and placed it underneath a staircase. At least it was safer there. Without giving it a second look, I made my way to run my errands. Did I feel guilty? Sure I did. I crossed my fingers the whole time I was at the market, hoping that somebody with a bigger heart could bring it home.
The moment I was done, I returned to the place where the kitten was. Not that I wanted to see it again and subsequently get my heart broken but that was the only way I could take to get to my car. The kitten was still there underneath the staircase, as if it was patiently waiting for me. It gave me that look. That wide-eyed Puss in Boots look. I sighed. Damn you kitty.
Behold the morsel today:
Well, technically, the kitten is no longer tiny. In two years, that very same kitten has grown into a fluffy, furry and fat white cloud who loves nothing but to hibernate as if it’s winter every day and bite his parents’ ankles for sport.
Happy birthday, Charlie. You’ll always remain that crusty morsel in my eyes. Now, for the love of God, leave my ankles alone!
