:Six Feet Under… and then some.

It was one of the most disturbing pieces of news in a week that promises to be filled with disturbing news.
A few days ago, we asked Rosanna the house-help to start bringing some of the multitude of cats (the front-yardigans) here at home back to her area.  Fast-forward to today, and sure enough, one of them was missing.  She had taken the tabby cat - a youngish one, not quite a year old yet.  Tabby and I had a history - including an incident with traumatic hyphema (a long story…)  Anyway, I decided to remind Osang of which cats to leave behind (long-tail and momma cat).  I commented on the fact that it was tabby she had taken, and that the next ones in line were calico, short tail, and big-black (you can guess what they look like from their very imaginative names).  As I was walking away, she left me with this bit of news:
       "Kinain yung pusa na binigay ko"
        Alin, yung maliit?
       "Oo, ginawang kaldereta."
I wish I could say that background music and a video montage of all those shared bumhood moments spent in the yard started playing, but the reality of it all is that my mind was just blank.  As I moved away, I realized that the same fate lay in store for the other three cats slated for eviction. 
And what exactly was my relationship with the front-yardigans?  Well, they served as markers for me during my two-year bumhood period.  Momma cat was the original stray, and all the rest are either her kids, or grand-kids.  As time went by, momma cat would produce a new litter of kittens - surprisingly corresponding to the times I had medical exams (the boards, and my USMLE steps).  Over time, I think she’s punched out just about twenty kittens (the village whore…).  Most of them have died - especially the latest batches, but her enduring litter was the one currently occupying the front yard - Long tail, short tail, and calico.  These were my MLE step one kittens.  Big black is my step tw0 kitten.  Its been a love-hate relationship with these guys.  I’m an avowed dog person, yet I still buy Whiskas from the wet-market every now and then for them.  I’ve seen these cats through birth, their crazy antics in the yard, through noisy nights when they start running around on top of the roof during rutting season.  Yeah, I hate those damn cats.
If its any consolation, the person who ate tabby said he was good.  I guess that’s what a cat raised on whiskas should taste like.
Stupid needful little things.