It’s no secret I was a freak with a temper growing up.
The temper part I agree with.
The freak part I really don’t concur with.
My parents and twin brother saw me as a freak though, someone who could talk to the dead and see things before they happened.
Your guess is as good as mine on how they persisted in thinking this, when my mother and twin had strong psychic abilities. My twin brother, David was a medium too, but they took refuge in religion, and believed they were inherently evil for seeing such things.
I was Satan’s spawn for going with what I saw and felt, instead of rejecting it.
I was told numerous times I was headed for hell.
Had little to no effect, as I know hell doesn’t exist.
I didn’t see things the same way.
They were missing so much by not using their abilities.
But I had Kiki, so it was alright.
Kiki came into my life through a mutual friend, and she and I clicked from the very beginning.
When there was no one else to talk to, there was Kiki.
Kiki was actually happy to see me.
She didn’t grumble when I was around.
Kiki never called me a slut, or godless heathen, or any of the other regular insults I was privy to from my family members.
She gave me the love and affection I would not have otherwise received.
She understood me, and accepted me as I was.
As Kiki was the only one in my life who accepted me for who and what I was, you can imagine how much she meant to me.
There was a great deal of jealousy in my family over my friendship with Kiki, which I never fully came to understand until after she passed on.
My family feared and believed my abilities were evil, but there was a bit of jealousy that I was so calm and steady in my beliefs.
I didn’t fear dying, nor did I fear any person around me.
This grated on my parents nerves, because their beliefs as parents were that I should blindly do whatever they asked, without questioning it.
As you might have gleaned from previous blogs, that’s not exactly the way I’m made, and never has been.
I only had faith in Kiki.
Unfortunately, as Kiki and my bond became closer, inexplicably, my parents ire grew greater, particularly my father, who believed females were lesser, and existed to do male’s bidding.
So it was that my father began to treat Kiki with a hatred and anger that she didn’t deserve.
I fought on her behalf every battle I could, but I wasn’t always at home when she was.
My father and I got into more than one physical alteration on account of Kiki.
I don’t regret them, and I would beat his ass again.
I came home one day, and immediately looked for Kiki.
I found her in a closet.
My father had picked her up and thrown her against a door as hard as he could.
So hard, in fact, that one of her eyes had turned sideways in her head.
At the time, Kiki had a litter of kittens.
When I found her, she was nursing them in my closet, and would lean down to wash them every so often.
Through my tears, I reached out to pet her.
To my utter shock, she began to purr when I tentatively reached down to caress her.
Even now, the tears come unbidden at the scene I witnessed that day.
No one can convince me that animals have no souls.
Kiki’s was one of the finest I’ve been privy to.
She laid there in unbelievable pain, taking care of her family, and extending the warmth and affection I so badly wanted, and never got from those who should have given it to me without precondition nor thought.
Tears streaming down my cheeks, I ran to my father.
It was very like those scenes in movies or on tv, where someone is so blinded by grief and anger, they swat aimlessly at those who have wounded them beyond the ability to ever heal.
I can say without doubt it was the ONLY time I swatted blindly at my father.
It is also one of the few times he kicked my ass without much of a fight put up by myself.
I crept back in, after taking my beating without crying out or betraying myself.
I curled up next to my mortally wounded Kiki.
The only creature who had been there for me in times of doubt, of fear, of despair.
She purred on and on as I stroked her.
When she soiled herself because she wasn’t willing to waste what time she had left with her kittens.
Or simply didn’t have the strength to rise and do what must be done.
I cleaned her.
I brought her food and water, in a futile attempt to help her.
I avoided my father’s smirking while I did so.
There was so little time left, and I would do what I could for her, and take it up with him later.
I played with her kittens with one hand, while I endlessly stroked her, and cried.
I had not believed there were so many tears in a person until that day.
Tears were a mark of weakness in my eyes.
I scorned tears, until that day.
I did not eat.
I did not drink.
When my parents tried to drag me away, I fought viciously and well, and stayed with Kiki.
That battle I won.
But the battle was not going to be victorious for my best friend.
Overnight I stayed with her, stuffed into my small closet, comforting her in the only way a child knows how.
Just being there.
I fought with my father again in the morning, and won.
I did not go to school.
I stayed with my only friend.
The truest friend I’d ever known in my young life.
Knowing where she would go when she passed.
Knowing that she would be waiting for me to join her one day.
It did me no good.
I knew I could survive without her.
It frightened me to think of what sort of person would emerge from this.
Even with Kiki’s example of love and affection in the most unimaginable circumstances to guide me.
I didn’t know how I would survive.
She died that night.
I did survive.
Kiki left me a reason to go on.
I would care for her family as she had cared for me.
No lessen worth learning is easy.
But I learned.
I think of Kiki often, and what a simple animal can teach those of us who have nothing else to guide us.
Serving a greater good than our own.
I hope that I am doing well in Kiki’s eyes.
I hope she approves.
I miss her.
Some scars never heal.
In wearing them, we have the bravery and knowledge to remember what we learned.
May we never forget.