home. (where the heart is)

The place we call home often seems to be taken for granted.

I never had one. Or at least, not a permanent one. The vivid days of my childhood were often more about mother, brother and I roaming around to find a shelter that could feed. It wasn’t easy - not when you have coarse and shaggy fur, not when you have an injured hind leg. It wasn't easy to limp around from a traumatic car accident. To this day, I still find my fur standing whenever a car passes by, and I’m not even that young anymore.

Day and night, it was just us against the rain, the shine and the people. Some were kind, and they fed us with their leftover fried chicken bones (which were obviously too tough for kittens to eat at that time) and some gave us the heads of their fish from their fish curry. The kedai mamak that we lived nearby when I was close to twelve months old was pretty much heaven compared to other locations that we’ve been to. On luxurious days, if God wanted to grant us even more, the people fed us expensive cat food instead of food scraps, which, most of the time, Mother nudged for us to eat. She could’ve eaten, yet she still prefers the scraps of fish remains from the local kedai mamak.

My brother was a few months younger than me, and an immature one is what I could tell you. He would go on and on, without stopping, about wanting humans to adopt us.

“There are people out there who are nice enough, you just never know!” he whispers enthusiastically as we crammed ourselves into a tiny, damp box in the alley where we lived in. his whiskers brushed against mine, but it was never more unpleasant than having to listen to him talk about wanting humans to adopt us.

“Mother doesn’t like it when you talk about humans.”

“Yes, but imagine! All three of us snuggled up in the blankets or a sofa in this cold weather watching the rain outside. Mother would be the happiest to take a nap in that state.”

“Hush now - she’s coming!”

Our conversation had ended there, but I knew that it was only his words. Everyday, when mother was not around, I happened to be the witness of my brother’s green eyes that sparkled whenever he spotted kind, young adults who would stop by and feed the other stray cats from the other territories. It never felt good having to see him getting his hopes up from the beings that, in the first place, where the ones who threw mother and both of us out in the streets. But he was probably too young to remember.

When I lost my brother, it wasn’t that hard to swallow the fact that I had just lost a sibling. He had been hit by a car while crossing the street, trying to approach the human who fed the other cats. It wouldn’t go well even if he reached there anyway; those cats were never fond of ones that weren’t from their own pack.

So when Mother got home to see the traces of his body on the street, flattened by the weight of such a monstrous vehicle and damaged from the speed of it that held no guilt, I thought I could almost hear his cry once he saw it coming. But of course, as if nothing had happened, I approached Mother and let her groom the dust off my fur. She dropped the piece of fish that we would share that night - all three of us - but now it seemed too much for two.

With that said, Mother and I continued to roam around trying to find a place to stay. It didn’t feel nice to stay in a place where you could get a first hand view of your loved one’s death, and it didn’t feel nice to unconsciously grieve over them each moment that passes by. So we packed up and left. This time, we lived in a deserted construction site, far from humans and far from vehicles. Of course there were several dogs around, but they didn’t really mean much harm to us.

It was a little difficult to find food, and considering that I had already became a fully grown adult, Mother had let me hunt on my own. Not that it was much of a hunt, anyway. It took a while to walk from home to find restaurants where I could wait for the perfect timing to pounce for food. By evening, Mother and I brought our own shares and the day passes by like any other for us two, lonely, homeless felines.

When I turned three, Mother had suddenly become ill. It was from the severe cough that she faced, and at times it blocked her breathing. She would sneeze endlessly, and it worries me knowing that we do not have anyone else to rely on whenever it comes to a sickness. Turning ourselves up in front of a shelter would be a bad idea because they would never handle us the same way some other shelters were known for (with clean cages, or daily food, or even a decent bath). So without saying much, I continued to look for food for Mother and I.

Mother left when I had brought home a whole piece of fish - mackerel; a luxury - back for her to eat, in hopes that good food would make her feel better. But nothing made it better, not when you return home to see the thin figure of your own mother sprawled on the sandy ground in our home with concrete walls and a plank as a roof. Nothing made it better when you can only do nothing except drop the fish you brought in front of her dead body, unsure of what to do.

I did not eat that day.

I left the construction site. It was a very confusing period of time where I don’t really recall what had happened back in those days. I never had a home, and I’ve lost the two entities that were the closest to one, so it felt like life would just go on endlessly. I would think about purposely getting hit by a car so that I wouldn’t have to live like this any longer, but cars scare me as much as they do when my brother felt when he was about to get hit.

I felt the warmth of a touch one rainy day. It was the hand of a human child, who seemed harmless as she stared back into my eyes. I hissed, cowering away from her while telling her not to get into my space. But then her eyes welled up, and it was the first time I had seen a human child cry.

Her mother came to pick her up and she was gone.

Although treated that way, she would never stop pestering me from day to day as soon as the sound of a bell rang. I had never been this close to humans who took interest in me, so it was only normal for me to scratch her when she touches me at the places where I’ve only just groomed. It was a hassle to do it again, but I think her palm felt good against my fur at one point, and I’ve warmed up to her completely.

One day, she came to me, crying. I purred as I stroked my head against her hand, an attempt at asking why.

“Papa has to leave for work, so now we’re all moving. What do I do? I can’t see you anymore.” she sobs while wiping her tears away with her other hand. I can only stare without much of a response. What could I do? I had been through such phases twice in my life, where the entities that you love come and go as they are supposed to. Now, when a human whom I had gotten attached to was leaving, who was I to ask her to stay?

“Goodbye now.” she looks at me one last time before running over to her mother, and I finally realized that I already stood on all fours, as if ready to trail after her.

In fact, I did. Perhaps it was the loneliness that forced me to do it, or the longing to be loved by someone or even love someone. Perhaps I had gotten attached to her more than I should have, and perhaps that was something Mother would scold me for doing.

But Mother, had I not embraced the attachment towards that human child, I wouldn’t have a home now. It feels nice to wake up under the blankets of the human child, and it feels nice to have her family greet me in the morning. It feels warm to eat along with them while they have their meal at the dining table, and it makes me feel assured whenever I climb onto her bed when her mother switches off the lights - as if she was protecting me and I was doing the same - whenever she whimpers and tosses and turns from a nightmare I would snuggle up to her closer and licked her cheek out of affection.

Mother, I have a home now; a place where I can feel so much with this one family. They named me and fed me, and they broke my expectations towards humans who would only treat cleaner and prettier felines when they brought me to the doctor and gave me medicine.

“Benji, come here boy! Who wants some food?”

My ears twitch at the sound of her voice. I glance at the rain one more time before hopping off the windowsill.