Adieu, My Cat -- Mama.

As I adapt to grief, I am reminded that I am human and there’s no adapting to grief.

As I adapt to grief, I am reminded that I am human and there’s no adapting to grief.

This evening, I felt the exact way I did in 2016. I have just lost my cat, Mama. I feel empty. I am empty. I have cried my eyes out — from the gate of the office to the gate of my house. All through the Solat, I wept profusely.

I hope death is happy. The last time I cried was in 2022. I hope you’re proud. You’ve taken my cats so much, this is the tenth.

I have been put to shame. I HAVE BEEN STRIPPED NAKED BY THE COLD HANDS OF DEATH.

I want out. I’m sad. I am scorned. Goodness, I am bereaved.

It’s insane. She wasn’t just a cat. She was an extended life form of me. My hate for life is renewed again.

I want to erase my memories of Mama. It’s cruel because they’ll spring up every moment. It’s torture, and maybe this is the beginning of where I become an odaju.

I love you, Mama.