Nine Isn't Enough

Trigger Warning: This story will contain death.

I miss her. 

I glare down at the cleanest gravesite around. I made it my duty to come a clean her headstone every night. I would come talk to her before I went to bed and when I woke up in the morning. The routine kept her alive in my mind, but it also made the realization that she was gone hit me so much harder. 

Her grave looks like it is almost isolated from everyone else's. I hope she isn't still lonely in the afterlife. All of the others are covered in moss and shrub as if they were abandoned by their families. My heart paused for a moment, preparing itself to express the longing it had forced me to feel for the past two years. The sadness in my chest only grew as I crouched down to her headstone, placing my hand over the edge to hold my head down.

"Melon," I called because I knew she could still hear me. I felt her presence. "I know you can hear me. I miss you, mama."

The skies relished in my sorrow and poured immense tears that I couldn't. I wanted to cry—I did—but I couldn't. It's been over two years now since she passed away. I cried out everything I could at that time. Nothing was coming out anymore. Besides, her death was my fault.

As the rain seemingly pierced through my long-sleeved blouse, I removed my hand from Melon's headstone and clutched my chest instead. It felt like my body was burning at her memory.

We were on the balcony the day she died. I wanted her to socialize because I felt guilty that it had been three years since she's interacted with another cat. It was my fault that she was always alone. It was my fault that she hated anything else that breathed.

I sat on the couch that I dragged out there one early morning. I had to leave the door open for her. She always took her time following me outside. She had to sniff everything before she felt comfortable enough to join my side. It always bothered me how she would creep outside even after considering it safe enough to travel around with her tail straight, making her look longer than she was. It broke my heart because I read somewhere that when house cats do that, it means that they are scared or not comfortable. I wanted her to be comfortable. I wanted her to feel safe. I wanted her to feel normal.

That's all I ever wanted.

When she finally made her way outside, her tail was pointed to the sky. I wanted to smile when I saw her finally walking outside with confidence. Before I could react, a big multicolored minivan with EMC sticker made a dangerous turn on our block. It hit the curb and almost hit a powerline. But as if it wasn't enough, they blared their sirens suddenly. 

I hastily turned to Melon again to make sure she was running inside but when I turned my head—just above the upsetting orchestra—I heard barking. I whipped my head around to see her silky black fur darting down Pauger. I stopped breathing as I ran down the steps and down the street to follow her. I just saw a dead cat on the ground the other day. I wanted to cry when I saw that one. Melon was a strictly indoor cat. She couldn't survive out there! I know she was scared. I needed to find her as quickly as I could. 

Unfortunately, that night I found nothing. A week later, I was walking to the bus stop behind the firefighter house and my eye caught a black shimmer. It looked like her and I hoped it was her. 

Now that I stood in front of her grave, I wish I hadn't craved her to be back in my arms just yet. Because I wouldn’t like how I found her then. 

It was her in the grass. She wasn't breathing. Her eyes were open and lifeless. She was flat with tire marks going across her stomach. 

A loud yelp left my throat followed by a gag. I threw up right next to her body and collapsed near the sidewalk. My breathing hitched before it felt like no air was coming in at all. I sucked in as much air as I could, but I still couldn't breathe. To make matters even worse, the tears that streamed down my face felt like fire, burning patches of my cheeks to ash in their wake.

I started to cradle myself. My soul knew it was her, but it could have been any stray Bombay. It didn't have to be my angel. I wish it wasn't my angel.

When she was six weeks old, I noticed a weird birthmark under her fur near her tail. Surely no other cat had that.

I held my throat as I choked on my own shock. It helped me to calm down enough to reach for that corpse and check her. Sure enough, it was Melon—laying on her side like how she used to and I would call her dramatic. I cried more and missed all my classes that day because of it.

During the night I took her body into the house and held her. She couldn't be gone. I didn't actually believe it until I woke up the next morning and her usual inconsiderately loud purrs didn't wake me. She looked as lifeless as the day before. I cried again. 

Thinking of that moment finally brought me back to reality. I was still in front of her grave sight. The thought brought a single tear to my eye but it didn't want to leave my body. It was having a hard enough time trying to find moisture to put in so it couldn't afford it to be taken out. I stared blankly at her full name on the headstone. 

The universe only warranted me a small moment to whither in my sorrow. It didn't last for long at all. It was not enough to mourn her death. A small head bumped my knees, and a loud purr came after. I looked down to see a Calico staring at me as if it wanted something from me. I sighed and forced myself to chuckle, to show the little thing as much kindness as I could muster in my depression.

“Hi, kitty,” I knelt forward to scratch its chin. “I would take you home with me but I would want you to be alone like that old gal.”

I pointed to Melon’s headstone. The cat looked confused before propping itself on my knees and reaching for my lips. I backed away and sent a playful glare to the kitty’s outstretched claws in the air. 

“Where were you about a week ago? You and Melon would have gotten along well,” I sighed and scratched its chin again and then worked my way around to scratch its head. 

The cat wasn't having any of it after that. It pushed past my hand and sniffed up towards my lips. My whole body froze and it began to ache. The only other cat I knew did stuff like that was the one in the ground right next to us. I leaned back and put my finger up.

The motion was from when I had Melon. I trained her to the best of my ability with our limited time together. She knew how to sit down, get on stuff, get off stuff, and follow my finger.

My body was suddenly filled with water and I started to cry. This Calico sat and waited on my next words with its eyes. 

“Melon? Is that you mama?” I whispered sure I was right. 

Cats have nine lives. Of course she was alive and well!

I picked up the cat in front of me and held it to my chest. This was also a ritual between Melon and I. Every time I got home she would howl for my attention so I would pick her up and hug her. When she grew tired of the hug she would climb to my shoulder and we would put the blinds down together. 

When I felt the Calico’s claws digging into my shoulder I wailed out. My baby was back in front of me! I couldn't be happier. 

I took her home and showed her off to my family. A judgmental sadness shaded their irises as they explained to me that the cat in my arms wasn't Melon.

“Look dawg,” my brother started with one of his speeches. “I know you miss her but she’s in a better place. This isn't a Disney movie where our animals can come back to life and say goodbye to us.”

I smacked his hand off of my shoulder. He never liked Melon in the first place. He didn't have the right to tell me she was gone.

“Then explain through logic how she knows how to sit and why she hugged me!” I demanded. “That's only stuff she would know how to do!”

Tears filled my eyes again as I collapsed to the ground. Maybe they were right. It did seem a little far-fetched that my Melon Berry would come back to life in the form of a Calico the same age. 

I was a pessimist for most of my life and as soon as my cat dies, I’m an optimist? I stood up and picked up the cat. 

I should have never gotten my hopes up in the first place. This wasn't my baby. This was just some random Calico that I wanted to be my baby to replace the one I had lost. I tried to put it outside but it sunk its claws into my arm terrified of being out there again. For a moment, I almost wanted to believe it was her again. What stopped me was how I could expect to be abandoned by my friends and continue to be happy. I should be able to do the same here. I winced and a tired sigh left my mouth. 

I wasn't going to treat this cat like Melon, but I guess I couldn't really get rid of it now.