A House Cat’s Final Days

Ariya Say

I have called many places home in my lifetime, but never have I dared to settle in a landfill site before. I couldn’t see the floor with all these unsorted garbage bags littered around—its stench roaming freely around the living area. Was this lady even human? No, I mustn’t say that. I should be grateful for some decent shelter.
The woman who was cradling me to her bosom smiles meekly, apologising for the mess while setting me down gently. I observed her under the assumption that she was going to transform this pigsty into a house, but she somehow managed to fall short of my already low expectations. This lady settled for shoving her trash bags aside to make space instead of cleaning up properly. She then placed a blanket down with an open can of tuna on top, looking at me expectantly.
The arrogance of this fool astounds me. Had she actually expected me to settle in between trash then eat directly from the can? She must be looking down on me. I’m sure of it. I may have lived my life on the streets but it’s clear that my living standards are superior to hers. Unable to accept this slight against myself, I ventured off into the halls of her residence.  

With no goal in mind but to escape the horrors of the living area, I wandered only to happen upon the master bedroom. To my surprise, it was relatively clean compared to the rest of the house. Though she didn’t redeem herself just yet. It was… barely acceptable. Not long after I settled on her pillow, the resounding thud of her footsteps followed after me. Her face replaced worry wtih relief when she caught sight of me. A plate of tuna was left on the floor—she has extended some hospitality so I must relent and show my gratitude. It wouldn’t do good for me to stain the name of black cats. 

 Before I indulged myself, I didn’t neglect to inspect the tuna facing me. I wouldn’t be surprised if that hopelessly incompetent woman accidentally bought expired food. Regardless, she did rush out to buy something for my sake. I suppose I have no choice either way.
So this is why those sheltered house cats always have such a superiority complex. Canned food is quite the delicacy. I thought her a lost cause at first, but perhaps she does have some use. If I can eat like this every day, I will give this human the honour of being my master.  

***** 

During the time spent with my master I’ve learned plenty about her: starting with her terrible naming sense—she rotates between Noir, Kuro, and Nero. Her infatuation with my well-groomed coat only served to expose her dull, uninspired mind. I daresay she would even name me “cat” in another language. I never responded to them in hopes of receiving something more appropriate. However, I did not receive my final name until much later. The name her parents gave her isn’t much better either – Christine. she was called. I can only hope it’s not popular amongst the rest of mankind. 

Enough about that, it’s time to move onto my master’s good points. It was a challenge in itself to identify any. She often cries to me about silly hardships, usually variations of ‘I don’t want to go to work!’ while complaining about her associates.
I have no business listening to this nonsense. Ah, the things I do for my master. Besides, what could be better than a life where you toil away for your loved one? Blanco from next door often tells me stories of humans who display our statues in their homes and worship us. There are many who wish to be in my master’s position. I can tell she isn’t taking it for granted. My incompetent master has started tending to her own needs along with mine. She even transformed this garbage disposal into a proper home. Nowadays, she’s even learning how to make home cooked meals. The results often resemble biowaste but my master appears content with her efforts. She’s smiling more as well. During the early stages of our cohabitation, she always had an expression of misery and anguish. Then she would embrace me to her bosom, I effectively banished all her gloom and doom. I remember she once said, ‘Now that I’m not alone, I gotta get my act together.’ And that she did. I take pride in being the catalyst that forced her into becoming a responsible adult.  

Her efforts did not go unrewarded. My master’s parents came to gift her tropical fruits, vibrantly coloured like a platter of jewels. A gift to commemorate the milestone of caring for herself. Naturally, they didn’t forget to serve me my treats either.  

Before indulging in my own reward, I took it upon myself to inspect the fruits and climbed atop the table. I prodded and sniffed at what lie before us. Noticing my curiosity, master’s mother settled me on her lap, coddling me like a human infant. She began cutting tiny pieces for me, allowing me to sample them. Apparently, these are very expensive in this country, but the buffet was nothing special. My master on the other hand, devoured those fruits like she was the stray here, especially the one they called “rambutan”. She didn’t discriminate against a “durian” either. I can’t fathom how humans can eat something that smells like marinated sewage—I mistook it for faecal matter and rushed to bury it in my litter. While enjoying my reaction, it appears that master has had yet another moment of clarity. 

‘Hey, hey,’ she started, ‘aren’t durians kind of like Noir?’
‘What is my stupid daughter on about this time?’ Her mother sighed.
‘I mean, they’re both stinky and Noir’s personality is super prickly.’
Her father interjected. ‘He still smells better than you during summer.’
“And all year long.” Her mother added.
They teamed up against her and laughed away. I couldn’t disagree either and it wasn’t because of a language barrier.
She ignored her parents, clearly lacking a rebuttal.
‘“Durian” speaks to me!’ She was serious.
“He stinks and all, but he’s still super sweet under that spiky exterior.”
My master held me up to her face proudly. “No more changes, he’s Durian from now on!” 

Everyone stared at her with undisguised disappointment. I wasn’t going to escape her egregious naming sense, so I had no choice but to live with it. From then on, I was to be called Durian. A name befitting a feline of my stature was simply too much to ask for from this feeble-minded master. I’ve quickly gotten used to this new name. It was an upgrade from the variations of “black”. When I recall those names, I am reminded that my master was an odd one. That’s exactly why I must remain faithfully by her side. How will she fare without me, I wonder. To whom would she spill her sorrows to? Who will comfort her after a long day of “hard work”?  

I jest. When it comes to what my master has done for me, I must say, the life of a housecat is a most comfortable one. To think she would pick up this worthless stray on the side of the road… When we arrived at her house, I considered running away countless times. After witnessing her efforts to accommodate to me, I can’t say I would hope to change the past. I can admit I’m indebted to this foolish human whom I must call my master. It is unfortunate to say that I cannot fully repay my debt to her. My days are becoming fewer and this is the only thing I can do for you while I still have the energy. To see my master sobbing with her hideously distorted face before me would not allow me to rest in peace. 

 For she looks best with a smile.     

 

 

This piece contains tense changes as a stylistic choice. 

Author: Ariya Say

Artist: Coco Thompson and Ella Pringle 

Accessibility Reader: 

Edited by: Lara Madeline Rand, Charley Anderson, and Nyah Marsden

Editors: Tia Shang