The truth

This is my cat, Ash. Was. He went missing when I was 18. Or so I thought.

Today I came home from work, my mum was acting weird. She said there's something she wants to tell me. She could no longer hold the burden of keeping it from me. She said both she and my dad had promised each other not to tell me this. But she said that it's time for me to know.

Mum: Ash didn't go missing. He died.

Me: Oh. I see.

Silence.

Me: How?

Mum: Somehow he managed to escape from the house and crossed the road. Then a taxi hit him.

I was totally cool. I didn't even cry. I thought, it's qada' & qadar. Things are meant to happen. Like death.

Mum: After being hit, he still managed to run back into the house. Ayah saw him sprawling in front of the kitchen. Ayah held him but at that moment, he was already gone. There were blood trickling from his mouth.

This made me cry. Things would have been simpler if he died on the spot. No suffering. But he didn't die immediately. He managed to walk back into the house. Our house. I couldn't imagine his suffering.

I can't stop crying up until now.