As I was walking home one afternoon, I saw an orange tabby lounging along the sidewalk of Carlos P. Garcia Ave.
He was lying still by the dirt near a wall, hind legs almost touching the pavement. He looked peaceful. Slowly crouching, I approached to pet him—something I usually do with stray animals. It was at this point that I realized he was dead.
You don't really know how to react when death surprises you. For most people, it's an incomprehensible mix of shock, sadness, and confusion. Closely examining the dead cat, I felt peace in seeing that he wasn't a victim of hit-and-run. No blood. Nothing seemingly out of place. Just a cat by the dirt. Dead.
I left him, expecting him to be gone the next time I pass by. The next day he was still there. Ants crawled and flies now swirled around his body. I made a habit of checking this slowly-decomposing cat. With each visit, I saw him being eaten off by organisms I can barely see. Somehow, it's like we're becoming friends.
All that was left of him was skin and bones after a few weeks. His skeleton was still in the same pose when I discovered him. His dirty fur now blending in with the dirt, still peaceful.
While I covered most of his remains with more dirt, I kept his skull. Carefully, I cleaned it. Carlos now stays by my shelf. He reminds me of the creeping inevitability of death, and that we must embrace it.
You don't really know how to react when death surprises you. For most people, it's an incomprehensible mix of shock, sadness, and confusion. Closely examining the dead cat, I felt peace in seeing that he wasn't a victim of hit-and-run. No blood. Nothing seemingly out of place. Just a cat by the dirt. Dead.
I left him, expecting him to be gone the next time I pass by. The next day he was still there. Ants crawled and flies now swirled around his body. I made a habit of checking this slowly-decomposing cat. With each visit, I saw him being eaten off by organisms I can barely see. Somehow, it's like we're becoming friends.
All that was left of him was skin and bones after a few weeks. His skeleton was still in the same pose when I discovered him. His dirty fur now blending in with the dirt, still peaceful.
While I covered most of his remains with more dirt, I kept his skull. Carefully, I cleaned it. Carlos now stays by my shelf. He reminds me of the creeping inevitability of death, and that we must embrace it.
Years later I gave Carlos a proper funeral, dressing him up with dead flowers and leaves, enshrining him. I even made him a rotating platform.
The crucifixion on their wall.
A painting, a statue, candles;
A plant, or two, or three,
A painting, a statue, candles;
A plant, or two, or three,
A whole garden;
A yard they tend to.
Rocks, lines on sand.
A yard they tend to.
Rocks, lines on sand.
I have Carlos for that
—a dead cat surrounded by dead flowers.
—a dead cat surrounded by dead flowers.
A meditation on ephemerality,
on growth, on change, on time.
