A FRIEND was ranting as many have been ranting: why aren't we ranting, they ask? Why indeed are we not ranting? Let me hazard a guess... because... we... do... not... know... where... to... start?
I envy friends who have a ready argument for any argument. I don't.
My mind grinds to a halt and just look for birds and butterflies instead, plus an occasional flower, and yes, cats.
So, here I am, stuck with a cat I named Notmy, short for Notmycat simply because he was not my cat. He moved in over a month after I moved into the apartment I've been living in for a year now. He was already full-grown then, a big black cat with yellow eyes and huge claws, claws I've never seen in my cats before.
He used to bully my cats... but things have changed now. My once timid cats have all settled in, and Notmy has aged quite fast. Or maybe he was already old, except that he still did not have white hairs when he first moved in. Now he has.
This mating season, he disappeared for a weak. Now he's back, but only in the morning, and occasionally at night. He no longer stays everyday as he used to before. That was after Patience booted him out from his favorite sleeping station on top of the cabinet.
There must be some territorial disputes happening, but I don't speak cat and so all I see are my cats going at each other.
Notmy, aside from the white hairs, also have numerous scratches, signs that he is no longer the alpha male. I can just imagine because of the four cats I have taken in as kittens, three are females. But they're all fixed so they are bigger than normal, still, they are females.
Notmy, the macho cat before is now being bullied by the two big ones. He's friends with the small female, maybe because the small female is also bullied by all.
Notmy, the macho cat, has been emasculated and he seems to not be getting any sympathy from the neighborhood as well. The scratches being the evidence of an emasculated existence.
Until today, almost a year later, I still do not know who really owns Notmy. He came with a blue collar and stayed for one whole year. I have since removed the blue collar and changed it with an anti-flea collar because he brought in fleas. No one looked for him throughout those months.
Now, he's often gone but I cannot dare go knocking on neighbor's doors to ask for him, knowing that he's not mine and might just have gone home after a year.
These days, we only spend some time together usually in the morning when he walks in with a loud meow knowing that there will come a time when he will no longer come home at all.
How is it to feel emasculated? I can only wonder. It must be the same feeling of knowing that a cat that is not yours will one day no longer go home, and yet you cannot force him to stay.
Out there, somewhere, an American of Asian origins who batted for Donald Trump is being bullied by the whites who have claimed dominance with Trumps' win.
Over here, the solid North are rejoicing with their leaders while the Martial Law victims and those who have been demanding for justice for the abuses during those eras are protesting the Supreme Court ruling allowing the dictator's burial at the Libingan ng mga Bayani.
Meanwhle, we're 11 days away from November 23, the sixth year since the Ampatuan Massacre, and yesterday, November 12, was the death anniversary of little buddy Gene Boyd Lumawag, a young photojournalist who was gunned down in Jolo, Sulu for no reason at all in 2004, 12 years ago.
Made to face Notmy, Digong, Marcos, Martial Law, Ampatuan Massacre and Gene Boyd's death, Trump... I'm stumped.
saestremera@yahoo.com
