I was hesitant to share this. I guess because it still is difficult to look at his photo. My little baby cat Rama died. He was hit by a car, I guess. Someone found him in the alley behind the building. They wrapped him in some paper and left him in the communal garden.
My friend came knocking, crying, asking when was the last time I had seen Rama. My blood turned cold as I realized what might be happening. I followed her to find Rama, wrapped, dead. His eyes were empty, void, and had a little blood that came out of his nose.
I couldn’t believe my little baby was dead, in front of me, wrapped in some generic paper. In a sense it was like a gift, an early Christmas gift. The message was clear. Enjoy life while you can. The problem is that we think we have time. We don’t.
I asked my friend what could I do with his body. She said I could bury him in the garden. We dug up a deep hole. I went back to my apartment to get my favorite sarong from India. It is orange with lots of mantras written on it. One of them is ‘Hare Rama’. I wrapped his body in it, placed him in the hole, and covered it up.
Later on that night I grabbed a large handful of incense, my Mala, and went back to the garden. I lit all of them at once. The smoke filled the whole area. I laid the Mala on top and left.
It is strange to be home without him. I have two other cats, Raja and Ganesh.
I know it’s difficult for others to empathize with another’s loss or pain, but Rama was my friend, family, and he will be missed.