My sweetheart, my most wonderful young cat, Kolo, was poisoned two days ago.
I live in Thailand, and this sometimes happens, usually with dogs, as an act of revenge against the animal or its owner.
I don't know why anyone would have killed my boy. I live on a quiet soi (street) and the neighbos all seemed to love him.
(To digress on one point...In Thailand, people are out on their patios, porches and balconies a lot. We live closer to one another than in the west, and there is a lot of socializing in "public." So Kolo and myself are well-known in my little enclave.)
Anyway, I don't think anyone hates me (but I guess you never know).
Who would murder an innocent, loving little cat?
Little girls dressed Kolo in doll clothes and carried him like a baby. He loved it.
He hung out on a couple of ladies' porches, keeping them company while they sewed and listed to Thai soaps on the radio. He seemed welcomed.
He loved my gentle guitar teacher so much, we sometimes had to move him to another room, so we complete our lesson.
He was incredibly and irrespresively friendly to everyone, a sweet neighborhood mascot.
Maybe that's what got him murdered.
Maybe someone didn't appreciate his universal friendliness. Maybe someone resented him, me, or both us for bringing cat-joy to our little neighborhood.
The pain I'm feeling is three-fold. The pain of his death, knowing he was actually murdered, and last, the lack of support here in my host country.
OK, so I screamed, cried, keened and basically lost it when I found him on my patio, and for the first 12 hours I was inconsolable. After several hours, I had two stiff drinks (thought it would calm me--it did not),Then I went out on our small soi, an image of my cat on my tablet, and called out, "Who killed my cat? WHO killed my cat?"
Now, if I had done this in the States, people would know I was newly grief-stricken, and if my public grieving died down pretty quickly, most people would surmise I was understandably traumatized and upset. OK, maybe these were not my finest moments, but they would NOT think I'm insane.
It's hard to gauge, but I am now thought of here in my little neighborhood as officially crazy, or people want nothing to do with me: someone who dismantled decorum, made noise, broke down, had a minor scene. Thais view all this public display of emotion as a huge no-no in every way.
So culturally, I blew it.
Also, Thais are notoriously insular: in the unlikely event it was considered that different cultures might grieve diffetently, 99% just wouldn't care.
Also, not everyone--but some folks--know who killed Kolo, and why. Thais love gossip, and biting chit-chat, but my neighbors are likely uncomfortable holding on to this secret in my presence.
So I am being shunned.
I am reminded that I am the "Farang" (white person, outsider), the person who will never be fully assimilated, someone who's seen a bit like a cartoon character, a symbol, a stereotype, not a separate, unique individual.
So I am without my loving Kolo, and have but a few people to reach out to locally. My Thai friends are being basically sweet, although I know they can't fathom the degree of my attachment to this small animal. They may secretly think this is eccentric, or may even think it's a symptom of "white privelege."
My western friends (here and at home) have spent a few minutes with emails and texts of sympathy, but you know, "people are busy," and they have their own lives.
So I am reaching out here.
It is awful enough to lose a cat via illness or accident, but when they died by someone's deliberate and cruel hands....
Let me put it this way...
I'm 60, spent my career as a nurse. My last career chapter was as a hospice nurse. I am no stranger to death, professionally and personally. I have also lost some sweet feline companions along the way, starting in childhood.
Nothing that has happened in my entire life is as bad as the pain I feel today. Nothing.
They say as you age, you learn how to "bounce:" you've undergone a terrible tragedy of some sort, but age and experience inform you that you actually WILL survive--and you do.
It doesn't feel that way this time.
Something in me has died. Hope is vanquished. I am not suicidal, but part of me wishes I just didn't have to wake up tomorrow morning, feeling OK for a split-second, and then remembering...
Waking up, reliving the realization of what's happened, knowing you will somehow have to slog through your day without going to pieces...oh, that's the worst part.
So I am t reaching out here.
If anyone has a moment to respond, even briefly, it would mean a lot to me. I know myself well enough to realize I need to communicate with real cat people, the folks that "get it."
Thank you for reading.
Kate
I live in Thailand, and this sometimes happens, usually with dogs, as an act of revenge against the animal or its owner.
I don't know why anyone would have killed my boy. I live on a quiet soi (street) and the neighbos all seemed to love him.
(To digress on one point...In Thailand, people are out on their patios, porches and balconies a lot. We live closer to one another than in the west, and there is a lot of socializing in "public." So Kolo and myself are well-known in my little enclave.)
Anyway, I don't think anyone hates me (but I guess you never know).
Who would murder an innocent, loving little cat?
Little girls dressed Kolo in doll clothes and carried him like a baby. He loved it.
He hung out on a couple of ladies' porches, keeping them company while they sewed and listed to Thai soaps on the radio. He seemed welcomed.
He loved my gentle guitar teacher so much, we sometimes had to move him to another room, so we complete our lesson.
He was incredibly and irrespresively friendly to everyone, a sweet neighborhood mascot.
Maybe that's what got him murdered.
Maybe someone didn't appreciate his universal friendliness. Maybe someone resented him, me, or both us for bringing cat-joy to our little neighborhood.
The pain I'm feeling is three-fold. The pain of his death, knowing he was actually murdered, and last, the lack of support here in my host country.
OK, so I screamed, cried, keened and basically lost it when I found him on my patio, and for the first 12 hours I was inconsolable. After several hours, I had two stiff drinks (thought it would calm me--it did not),Then I went out on our small soi, an image of my cat on my tablet, and called out, "Who killed my cat? WHO killed my cat?"
Now, if I had done this in the States, people would know I was newly grief-stricken, and if my public grieving died down pretty quickly, most people would surmise I was understandably traumatized and upset. OK, maybe these were not my finest moments, but they would NOT think I'm insane.
It's hard to gauge, but I am now thought of here in my little neighborhood as officially crazy, or people want nothing to do with me: someone who dismantled decorum, made noise, broke down, had a minor scene. Thais view all this public display of emotion as a huge no-no in every way.
So culturally, I blew it.
Also, Thais are notoriously insular: in the unlikely event it was considered that different cultures might grieve diffetently, 99% just wouldn't care.
Also, not everyone--but some folks--know who killed Kolo, and why. Thais love gossip, and biting chit-chat, but my neighbors are likely uncomfortable holding on to this secret in my presence.
So I am being shunned.
I am reminded that I am the "Farang" (white person, outsider), the person who will never be fully assimilated, someone who's seen a bit like a cartoon character, a symbol, a stereotype, not a separate, unique individual.
So I am without my loving Kolo, and have but a few people to reach out to locally. My Thai friends are being basically sweet, although I know they can't fathom the degree of my attachment to this small animal. They may secretly think this is eccentric, or may even think it's a symptom of "white privelege."
My western friends (here and at home) have spent a few minutes with emails and texts of sympathy, but you know, "people are busy," and they have their own lives.
So I am reaching out here.
It is awful enough to lose a cat via illness or accident, but when they died by someone's deliberate and cruel hands....
Let me put it this way...
I'm 60, spent my career as a nurse. My last career chapter was as a hospice nurse. I am no stranger to death, professionally and personally. I have also lost some sweet feline companions along the way, starting in childhood.
Nothing that has happened in my entire life is as bad as the pain I feel today. Nothing.
They say as you age, you learn how to "bounce:" you've undergone a terrible tragedy of some sort, but age and experience inform you that you actually WILL survive--and you do.
It doesn't feel that way this time.
Something in me has died. Hope is vanquished. I am not suicidal, but part of me wishes I just didn't have to wake up tomorrow morning, feeling OK for a split-second, and then remembering...
Waking up, reliving the realization of what's happened, knowing you will somehow have to slog through your day without going to pieces...oh, that's the worst part.
So I am t reaching out here.
If anyone has a moment to respond, even briefly, it would mean a lot to me. I know myself well enough to realize I need to communicate with real cat people, the folks that "get it."
Thank you for reading.
Kate