Image source: Paul Ancheta at Flickr
IT'S BEEN a month since Pluto's death. The day he left—1 October—ended a sad, tragic week in familiar places: the floods in my hometown Manila, the tsunami in Samoa (home of the Baha'i Temple of the Pacific), the earthquake in Sumatra. The circumstances weren't easy. They weren't welcome anytime.
Pluto died of complications from acute renal failure, which I learned to be a genetic disease common to most Persian cats. The illness was swift: he was diagnosed two weeks before his death, and he spent the last 15 days of his life hanging onto intravenous treatment. Other complications arose, including inability to pass urine, and in the end, he was simply too weak to carry on.
He lived a short life (3 years and 2 months), but the delightful moments with him were endless. He was the only living creature that literally shared my bed in India, watching me as I slept, him crouched on my pillow, and saw me wake up, him tugging at my hair, a childhood habit he never outgrew ever since that night I brought him home from Pune, a curious two-month-old bundle of energy. He was a silent witness to my life in India, having been there when I moved houses in Mumbai, relocated to Kolkata, hosted gatherings in my flats, and fought with service providers on the phone!
It's tough to connect the Pluto of those heart-wrenching dying hours with the Pluto that brightened my days and nights in India. The only thing that remained constant was the thick, golden, furry coat of silky, life-infused Persian cat hair.
This is the Pluto I'll always remember.
Related Sites: Pluto comes home | Pluto turns 1 | Pluto turns 2
