He survived long odds in battles at Camelot, and soldiered on, titanium hip and all. Bionic or not, Arthur outlived expectations, and now leaves a gap far greater than his size. Yeoh Siew Hoon shares a story of a brave one who came into her life two years ago.
He was close to death when we found him. He had been hit by a car and unable to move, he had found a sheltered spot by the roadside to wait out the last days of his life.
We took him home and brought him to a doctor who took an X-ray and found a fractured pelvis. We put a titanium hip in him. Bionic Arthur, we called him.
Arthur, because he was found near a building named Camelot. Bionic because he thought he was.
The first week in his new home, he just took it easy. He mostly ate and slept. The doctor had said, feed him all you want. And so we did.
We watched him heal.
By the second week, he started showing signs of restlessness. He would look longingly at the door, at the windows, any space that promised the great outdoors. And he would make sure we knew what he was feeling.
We decided to let him out. He had been a free spirit until the accident, and he wanted to be free again. Freedom once tasted is hard to give up. We thought if he doesn’t come back, so be it. He was well enough to fend for himself now and we had done what we could.
But he came back that first time, and each and every time over the last two years.
He behaved like the king that was his name. He would come and go as he pleased, and we would feed him whenever he pleased. He made sure we knew whenever he needed attention.
Our friends called him fat. But they all grew to love him and laugh at his antics.
The way he would sleep splayed on his back with his legs in the air, the way he would nip (nay, bite) their fingers when they tried to touch him, the way he would lie on his favourite cushion like it was his entitlement, the way he would lie next to my computer while I was typing away and sometimes, the way he would walk across my keyboard, leaving a string of gibberish on my computer screen.
It was as though he was telling me, that’s what I think of your work, my dear.
A month ago, he developed a stomach abscess. We took him to the doctor who removed it. When we took him home from the hospital, the doctor said, “I don’t ever want to see you again, Arthur.”
Last week, Arthur got into a fight. He came home with a wound. It festered. It got infected. We took him back to the doctor on Monday. He said, “Arthur, I told you I never wanted to see you again.” He gave Arthur a jab, a packet of antibiotics and sent us away on our merry way.
On Wednesday morning, Arthur died. By the time we brought him to the doctor, he had gone to his Camelot in the sky. Truth is, Arthur decided to leave us, after having had his last walk with his two best friends, Adora and Dylan.
I suppose he too did not want to see the doctor again.
I miss his mews.
