I was lying in bed yesterday morning, fighting off consciousness and willing myself to sleep (because it was, what, 9 in the morning and I needed to be up by 5 pm if I wanted to get to work on time?) when I heard my phone’s message alert tone go off. Because I know my sleeping habits well enough to know that it would take the Armageddon to rouse me from my slumber, I keep my phone a few good feet away from me whenever I sleep— if only to ensure that when the alarm goes off, I will be forced awake and out of my bed to turn the damn thing off.
So my phone sounds off and the first thing I think is “Oh wow, people are up Twittering early today”. I wait for the barrage of messages to come in, but that was it. Not the least bit sleepy, I unearth myself from under my comforter, kneel on the edge of my bed, and reach for my phone which was sitting on top of my pink plastic dresser.
It was my mom, telling me that Munky was dead.
Bye, baby cat. I miss you :(
(He was really my mom’s cat and she told me he went missing last Saturday and they were thinking someone catnapped him. My dad found Munky decomposing in our car port Tuesday, after being told by their laundry lady that she smelled something funny the previous day.
I wish someone just stole him from us, really :( At least he’d still be alive. Fleh.)
Third cat of ours to die. It’s funny how I’ve gotten used to the initial shock and pain of losing a family pet. I’m handling this better than that time when MY Bunso died, January last year.