I arrived from JB to an empty home, and only Richie greeted me at the door. Thought Squee would be locked up in the toilet when no one else is home as would be the usual arrangement but when I went to look, the door was ajar and he wasn't there. Called for him but he didn't show up at all, for some reason I just thought that my mum had prob brought him to the vet for a sterilisation appointment (which I'd mentioned to her I'd planned to have him checked up and all this month in view of the hols).

Mum came back not long after when I finished unpacking, the first thing I asked her at the door of course was "Where's Squee". She told me. Apparently on Tues night, he was left to run free about the flat while she snoozed in the living room. When she woke up at daybreak and called for him, no Squee appeared. After sending my dad and bro down the block to search for him, nothing. No carcass. No sign of Squee ever since Tuesday night.

In other words, my kitten whom I'd brought up by hand for 3 solid months has mysteriously disappeared. Of course I'm damn upset. Of course I'm crying. Sure, no more time will be wasted on trying to shoo him out from under the beds or cleaning up after him just before I've to rush out of the house, or picking up stuff he's swatted off from shelf to floor. Or even untangling my hair from his ever-busy paws. Is that a relief in itself? That my (and my mum's) life is just that little more freed up to tend to our own appointments? It's just a cat after all right? But do you know how it feels to lose something you've cherished (admittedly not always, I did have my days when I looked at him with utter irritation), something you spent so much time and care over, taking care of it, nursing it, hoping that it would get better (which he eventually did and had a semblence of intelligence to actually take pride in) and having it integrated into part of your daily life, to wake up and see him around the flat, either sleeping in a concussed manner in all places or running around in estacies over a simple piece of clanking plastic, or bickering in the most ridiculous and unchanging manner with Richie? Do you know the attachment that grows in you when you bring up something from young - even though Squee was somewhat of a background fixture in my daily routine of school and activities.. That attachment resides quietly in the corner of your mind, deciding to remind you of its existence in certain moments every now and then. Just before I left the home for Anntic in JB, Squee had somehow caught a dragonfly and had its head in his mouth with its wings buzzing away haplessly - he wanted the dragonfly for himself of course and tried to escape my attempts to pry his mouth open to free the mutiliated dragonfly and he jumped up on the counter next to the kitchen window, bashing the dragonfly against the window in the process and left a dragonfly-goo mark on the glass? Or how his displays of appreciation over being molly-coddled over seemed so funnily exaggerated but so heart-warmingly sincere? And even though he was a grubby kitten in his own right, never endeavouring to wash beyond the front of his ears and even smelling a bit (which meant more work in the sense of having to bathe him more frequently than Richie)... It's not fair, ok? I don't know what's happened to him. No one does. No carcass to prove his demise, no witness at all to give a clue as to where he went. The only plausible theory is that he missed his balanced or actually jumped out of the window, probably attracted by something fluttering there, on Tuesday night. How else can you explain a missing cat in a HDB flat located 22 storeys up? He can't open the main door. Mum said that Dad suggested putting up pictures of Squee around the area in the hope of someone being able to identify him but honestly I don't have faith in that. Given the circumstances I'm convinced that Squee can only be gone for good. And it's just not fair. He's been with me for just short of 8 months. I picked him up on the 7th of May and after all this while to just lose him like that...

And part of me's reasoning that he's just a cat, without a soul, who gave more trouble than I'd have wished for at times, who caused my dad to make remarks about getting rid of him since he didn't seem worth taking care of, which incensed me tremendously, who (and this I retorted in agitation at my mum) cost me nearly my entire hols to take care of him, BUT I ENJOYED THE WHOLE PROCESS.

During certain parts of the camp I'd felt some strange fears in my heart that caused me to hope that all would be safe and sound back home. And I really didn't expect this to happen. And another odd matter was that someone who lived in my block jumped to his/her death on Wed night - of this my mum had informed me. I think I've written down all with regards to Squee that I'd wanted to remember or rationalise - all the rest of the stuff in this paragraph are just ramblings of a tired and upset mind... I'm still crying. I know that in time the anger and hurt and devastation over the loss would cease. And in time this would just be a memory of the past, or a fact, rather. But I'd always hoped to see Squee grow past his first year and hence into official cat adulthood, and then on to many more years together down the road. But no, he's not here anymore and I seriously doubt that he's coming back ever. And that hurts. Really, despite all the trouble he's caused and the future trouble he would have caused...

And I suppose this is the last time he shall have reason to be mentioned in my journals. Squee, my kitten whom I'd no qualms refering to as 'baby' when alone or in private. Who exasperated me so but also made me laugh with his madcap antics. Squee, what on earth did you do...?