Encounters with the feline kind

I am not a cat person.

I enjoy watching Garfield-like fat cats lazing around (especially those with fur that could give carpets a run for their money) from afar but I dislike frisky kittens that try to pounce on every moving thing. Well, my uncle's family recently adopted a kitten which would cause me to suffer multiple heart scares during my visits to their house. It's a beautiful kitten with a funny tail (my cousins call her Oppy) but her stares at my feet (especially when I unconsciously moved my feet) really drives me to the edge.

And yet, I live next door to a family who just loves cats. I've lost count of how many cats they keep (or the ones which have moved on to kitty heaven) and I dread to think that a new week may just see a new furry resident.

But my neighbour's cats have a bit of a problem (a major one at that) when it comes to directions. While they know where their owner lives, they are always in my house's compound. At any one time, a visitor to my house may sight at least 3 cats at my house. They could either be enjoying an afternoon nap on my mum's table and chairs (sometimes, they even have the audacity to lie on top of clothes which my dad leaves to dry on the chairs) or serving as self-appointed security guards for our house. One would be perched on the pillars flanking our gates while the other would sit somewhere in front of our front door. And I would be lying if I say that they don't indulge in an occasional bout of fight or try to mate with each other during those seasons. They also treat my house as one huge litter box belonging to them. Oh and these cats even use my car as their personal highway. They would laze on my car and when they're done, they do not say thanks. Instead, they leave behind trails of paw prints across my windscreen to remind me come every morning that my car is not mine alone. I may have the responsibility of paying for the car's monthly installments and hence, should be entitled to a paw print-less car but hey, try explaining that to our furry friends. The best I'll get from those furry beings would be one look of disdain (cats are highly obnoxious creatures, no doubt about that) or a contemptuous flick of the tail to dismiss me to a state of resignation.

Yet, I should be thankful that my neighbour's cats are real cats. I've had encounters with the feline kind on at least 3 occasions which left me wondering whether those cats were real cats or embodiment of supernatural forces.

Port Dickson Cat
This cat would definitely be the scariest cat I've met. Until today, I still could not (or will not) confirm whether it was actually a cat or a mere personification of a sinister force. It was in year 1995 when my family for some reasons, could not attend my grandmother's funeral. We wanted so much to bid my grandma farewell but instead, we had to seek refuge elsewhere. And the place which became our home for the next few nights was Port Dickson, Negeri Sembilan. Along with my aunty and my young cousins, we checked into one of Port Dickson's hotels. Everything was fine until the evening after my grandmother's funeral. It was that time of day (around 7-ish pm which some of us believe is when mortals and spirits collide) when my father, my aunt and I were standing in the hotel's corridor, engaged in conversations. I remembered how my father's attention was inextricably drawn away from the conversations and he noticed a cat staring at us from the other end of the corridor. It was a very long corridor and yet, we felt the piercing stare which sent goosebumps down our spine. For a short moment which felt really long, both parties stared at each side before the cat finally made its move. It started walking, ever so slowly with its eyes remain fixed on us and with each move, we became more afraid. There was simply pure evilness permeating from the cat as it takes the hunter persona and us, the prey. It was already halfway across when my father seized the situation and directed us to enter our rooms. We rushed inside our rooms, locked the doors and drew the curtains across the windows.

The coming night was one of uncertainty. Throughout the night, we heard the cat's faint meows on the other side of the door as if trying to persuade us to let it in. We also heard the distant sounds of people reading verses from our holy Quran which was strange because the hotel had a low occupancy rate and the hotel was far from any mosque or houses. It was a terrifying feeling and we spent the night praying for morning to come and that the door is strong enough to bar anything from entering. Morning finally came and when my father opened the door, there were pronounced scratch marks on the door.

Until today, my father believed (and I believe him) that if the cat had crossed our paths that fateful night, one of us (either my father, my aunt or even myself) could have inherited something which was part of an age-old agreement and one which will follow our bloodline.


Kuala Kangsar Cat
This encounter happened in Istana Kenangan, Kuala Kangsar, Perak back in 2005. I was then a 2nd year university student and during the semester holidays, went on a 'Sepet' trip with a few of my closest uni mates. If you're curious as to why the trip was named 'Sepet', it was simply because the hottest local movie then, 'Sepet' was shot entirely in Perak. With a long semester break on our hands and boredom with the usual KL spots, we decided to head to Perak for a brief sojourn. After getting ourselves acquainted with all the scenic spots that appeared in the movie, my friend cum host decided to drive us down to Kuala Kangsar, the royal town of Perak.

While my name may start with the title most commonly known to originate from the Perak Royal Family, I myself have never been to Kuala Kangsar. The most I know at that point in time was that the present Perak Sultan presides over ceremonies at the famed Istana Iskandariah. What I didn't know was that next to Istana Iskandariah is an old palace used by the former rulers as their main palace and according to my friend, is also the palace where the deceased royalty will lie in state before their burial. The palace's official name is Istana Kenangan but to the locals, it's simply known as Istana Mayat.

The old palace is now a museum which houses royal artifacts and regalia. While I admit that my interest was piqued by the unusual name, I was also weary of the palace's history. And so I entered the palace's compound with my friends and a silent prayer in my heart. I was told that the palace was shaped as a sheathed sword. We had to climb a flight of wooden staircases before being greeted with the first of many exhibit rooms.

I remembered reading the history of the Perak Royal Family with my friends in the first exhibit room. I can't recall what exactly happened next but soon enough, I found myself separated from my friends. At that point in time, I was not that concerned because my friends were still within sight and seeing that the palace was not that big as compared to other palaces, I continued with my own exploration of the palace. I first sensed that something was watching me when I was alone in the third or fourth room. By then, I couldn't hear or see my friends anymore. Yet, I continued walking to the next room.

In the next room, I again felt as if I was not alone. It could be because of the old photos hanging on the walls but the feeling was tuned to that of a living thing. I glanced around and saw no one in sight. Turning my attention back to the exhibits, I could not dismiss that nagging feeling. And then I saw it. The white cat stood silently by the door with brown eyes that looked at me with interest. I was afraid because cats can sense when you're afraid of them and they will try to come closer. Yet, this cat seemed uninterested to move. Instead, the cat settled comfortably by the door with eyes that occasionally stole glances at me. Seeing that the cat did not budge, I was not worried and moved on to the next room.

The feeling was peaceful when I read up on the explanations on the artifacts. However, I soon felt that I was being watched (yet again) and true enough, the white cat was again sitting by the door. I do not know when the cat came but like the previous room, the cat made no effort in entering the room to where I was. It merely looked at me with a swish of the tail once in a while. By now, seeing the cat reminded me of something akin to a bodyguard who will remain outside the room. And that was how it was...I would enter every room and before I knew it, the cat would soon be waiting by the door. Unlike the Port Dickson cat which felt evil, I did not fear this cat. Never once did it purr and it certainly did not try to approach me. I may be silly but I could swear that the cat seemed happy to wait. Like a bodyguard.

By the time I finally returned to the first exhibit room, my friends were already waiting in the carpark. Their backs were facing me and I saw that a stranger was with them. As I approached them, one of my friends turned to face me. I could not explain the feeling when she walked in my direction and in her arms was the cat. She knew that I was afraid of cats and yet, she was smiling as she tried to get me to touch the cat. I balked and walked away. And as I was walking away to the car, I could hear the stranger saying this..."Kucing ni dah lama kat istana ni." (this cat has been around the palace for a long time). There's nothing wrong with the sentence but the fact that I heard it really gave my a queer feeling.

Upon my return to KL, I told the story to my parents. I did not want to tell my friends who were with me for fear that they may not believe me. After all, who would want to believe a story where a cat acts like a bodyguard? And my parents took it pretty serious. In their words, the white cat may not be what I see. It could be the palace 'guardian' who could detect that a family member has arrived and is only happy to serve.

On a separate note, my friend only recently (and out of the blue) spoke to me about the cat. Apparently, she (being a cat lover) spotted the cat inside the palace and was surprised when she could not get the cat to come to her. She was even surprised to discover (upon following the cat) that the cat was always following me and at the same time, maintaining a safe distance. Her words were indeed a revelation to me.

Seri Menanti Cat
My most recent encounter with the mysterious feline kind was when I followed my family back to Seri Menanti in conjunction with Yamtuan's installation. By the time we arrived at the Bukit Serajin Royal Cemetery, other members had already left as the prayers were conducted early in the morning. Save for Tuanku Jaafar who was buried in the newly constructed mausoleum, other royals of Negeri Sembilan were buried in the cemetery. Perhaps now is a good time to describe a bit more about the cemetery. From the outside, the cemetery is just a piece of land circled by fading white walls and big black metal gates as its entrance. Yet once we open the gates and enter the cemetery's compound, it felt as if we're in a different world. No doubt the grass was green and trees still looked like trees but the muted silence coupled with an occasional breeze of the wind made it eerily peaceful. In fact, I've always felt that the cemetery was not a place for the dead but a park where I can enjoy a good book. And how many local cemeteries can be described in the same manner?

Anyway, one will immediately see upon entrance, four grand marble tomb stones complete with roof. They are the resting place for Malaysia's first Agong, his consort, the 9th Yamtuan and his consort. Walk further and you'll come across few rows of tomb stones, some bigger and more ornate than the rest. Those belong to other family members including my great grandmother. And if you walk to the end, you'll notice a slope of land where the earlier Yam Tuans are buried. Somehow, their tomb stones are really huge but given the time which have passed, the writings on the tombs are now merely marks on the granite.

Back to the story at hand.

Left unperturbed, my father and I continued to proceed to my great grandmother's tomb stone to offer our prayers. Once we were done, my father suggested what I've always wanted to do - to record the arrangement of graves and the royals that are resting in peace. With my father by my side and under the hot searing sun, we made our way from one grave to another. I managed to record most of the tomb stones when my father saw the 'Datuk Kubur' (a title for the custodian of the cemetery) at the other side of the cemetery. We walked towards him and my father started to talk to the man.

Given the hot weather, we found shelter at the late Tuanku Abdul Rahman's roofed tomb stone. I was initially interested in listening to the conversation but got bored eventually. It was then when I started to walk away from my father (who by the way, was engrossed in the conversation) and continued our earlier work. I was seated by a grave site when I had the same feeling I felt in Kuala Kangsar. My eyes immediately directed its gaze, without any explanation on my part, to the tombstone of the 9th Yamtuan. And seated by the tombstone was this really big grey cat with luxurious fur striped in black. Upon seeing the cat, the first thing that struck me was that it was definitely not a kampung cat. In fact, if the cat's fur was orange, it could have passed off as a tiger sitting perfectly at ease by the tombstone.

I found the cat continuing to stare at me and moments passed without the cat blinking. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of fear leaving me momentarily paralysed. I turned to look in my father's direction but he was somehow still chatting with the old man. I wanted to yell to get my father's attention but the words could not come out. Feeling helpless, I turned back my attention to the cat who still remain seated. I looked at the cat and using my eyes, I tried telling the cat what I could not utter. "We meant no harm."

The cat continued staring at me before suddenly getting up to its feet. It let out a big yawn and started to walk towards me. I was initially terrified (because of my general fear of cats) but somehow, the feeling is now one of being greeted by a familiar presence. I found myself no longer in fear of the cat but nevertheless, still remain rooted to the ground. I could only stare at the cat which was fast approaching but the cat stopped midway and retreated. The cat was now walking majestically along the faded white walls and my eyes followed its every movement. The cat continued walking until it reached the black gates and the last image I saw of it was the cat sitting at the gate with its back facing the cemetery. At that moment, the cat reminded me of the bodyguard-like cat of Kuala Kangsar. I briefly turned my head to call my father and when I turned to look at the gates, the cat was no more.

Despite my earlier attempts to call my father, I never did manage to tell my father then. Before I knew it, a group of people who were part of the Pagarruyung entourage entered the cemetery and upon seeing us there, started talking to us. I was standing next to my father and when there was a moment I actually remembered to speak to my dad, I stopped. Because a lady who was part of the entourage was staring at me in a way which made me feel really uncomfortable.

In the end, I only recovered to tell my parents what had happened when we had left Seri Menanti. By circumstances or not, it was as if I was in a form of trance. My father who grew up in Seri Menanti then recounted stories shared among villagers of the 'guardian' which would often take the form of a cat. The 'guardian' may turn into a tiger when anyone has bad intentions against those 'he' has been assigned to protect. He himself has never seen the cat but according to him, what I saw was the cat in question. Should I then count myself as third time lucky?

Of all the topics, I chose this one

I went out for lunch with KL quite a while ago and of all the topics under the sun, we ended up talking about obituaries and cemeteries. We could have talked about fashion trends or latest restaurants and yet, we talk about black printed words and white granite headstones.

The morbidity is purely my fault alone.

It started with us discussing the death of a member in our legal fraternity whose family placed an obituary ad in the papers. I read the ad and told KL how I've always been interested in reading up obituaries. I may not necessarily know the deceased but reading their obituaries and seeing their faces (when they were young or at the age of death) somehow makes me feel as if I know them.

KL must have been disturbed in discovering this fact about me. In fact, I think people who are reading this may be shaking their heads as well.

Obituaries are fascinating. By reading obituaries, I learn a great deal about other people's religions, read quotable quotes and to what may be a dismay to my English literature teachers, discover good poems on death.

Unlike death announcements for people sharing the same religion as me which are often confined to the phrase 'Al-Fatihah', I have to say I am more drawn to other types of obituaries. Before I proceed, kindly note that the following is not meant to insult or degrade any person living or dead from any religion or race. Any reference to any person living or dead is purely unintentional and meant without harm. What I'm about to write is purely my observation and personal opinion which should not be taken to construe the general perception, whether right or wrong.

Enough with the disclaimer.

I would often wonder with amusement whenever I come across an obituary for an Indian who practices the Hindu faith. There will be the customary photo of the deceased but more importantly, the obituary also serves as an 'announcement' of where their family members are located or currently working at. For instance, there will be 'Son - Gopal (TNB)' or 'Daughter - Rani (USA). I do not know whether it's meant to aid others to identify the deceased's family members or simply because common names are being used and there could be a case of mistaken identity. Families may have a few Gopals in their midst but how many Gopal are working with TNB? And an Indian obituary will always end with this line - 'Please treat this as a personal invitation'. This could be a reflection of the importance Indians place on family gathering or social events that would ordinarily generate a high number of attendees.

Next on my list would be Christian obituaries. Whether the deceased is of Chinese or Indian heritage (common in Malaysia), me reading their respective obituaries would translate into a short introduction of what, among others-

(a) Jesus Christ promised his followers - "I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes
in Me shall live even if he dies"; and

(b) Paul said and repeated by many since then - "I've fought the good fight, finished the race and

kept my faith".

While I am not a Christian, reading those oft-quoted phrases do present a channel of understanding my Christian friends better. After all, I believe the beauty of religion is tolerance of others' faith. All religions (save for the extremists which I may add, exist in all parts of the world and not confined to what people commonly believe as Iraq or Afghanistan alone) promote goodness and that should be respected. As usual, I've digressed.

I wrote earlier that reading one's obituary is somewhat a short cut to knowing his or her family members. It's true. So much information could be squeezed out from that one tiny printed space. I would know, among others -

(a) how many children or grandchildren the deceased left behind. There are cases when children

pre-deceased their parents and their parents' obituaries would show 'Son - deceased'. In

other instances, the parents of a young deceased person would often make reference to 'sadly

missed by your loving parents, sisters, brothers etc';

(b) whether the deceased person's child married someone (or a few others) from a different faith

or for Asians, having foreigners as their spouses;

(c) that one (if not all) of the deceased's children are working professionals or ranked person

judging by the credentials of Dr., Ir. or honorifics like Dato', Datin etc; and

(d) whether the deceased person has adopted children or a godparent to some young kid.

I planned to write about the cemeteries I've visited or the ones that have caught my eye but I think I need to reserve it (the issue, not the plot. No pun intended) for another time. In the mean time, I just realised I have yet to peruse today's paper to check on the latest updates in the 'obituary' department. Okay, that sounds so wrong.

But personally, in the words of Benjamin Franklin -

"I wake up every morning at nine and grab for the morning paper. Then I look at the obituary page. If my name is not on it, I get up."

p/s by the way, it would be pertinent to note how I got the title of my blog page. "Ave Atque Vale" is a latin phrase which literally means 'hail and farewell' (back in ancient Rome) or simply 'hello and goodbye' in today's term. And how did I come across the phrase? It was the last line of a memoriam recorded in one of those old law journals. No surprises there.

Gathering of friends

Location: a nice restaurant somewhere in Damansara Heights where the exterior reminds me of Ipoh High Court and the interior bears a striking (or some) resemblance to the E&O which I remembered.

Date & Time: 1 May 2010, 7.30 p.m.

It was our second gathering since graduating and as seen from the pictures below, only a handful attended. I take this opportunity to record my sincerest thanks for those who came all the way from up North (Penang) or down South (Johor) for the gathering. However, very little can be said (or I risk putting down all the expletives known to mankind) about people who either -

(a) did not understand the meaning of RSVP which in plain English, is to reply by a certain date;
or

(b) said they will come but only to back out at the last minute without informing. The chinese
calls it 'fong fei kei' (forgive the spelling) but to me, it's just plain rude.

Anyway, there may be the popular saying 'the more the merrier' but i beg to differ. We may be small in number (thanks to those people I've described above) but I like to think the gathering was an intimate affair between friends who are now in the government service, private practice, in-house legal counsels and miscellaneous.

The customary group photo. Notice the big glass panes and wooden panellings behind us? Marvelous.

Another customary photo in 'relaxed' mode

With those who chose to remain behind for more shots

With TGC in our own customary shot

Enough of indoor shots, we settled for the outdoor scene.

Had a great time with my friends. Now looking forward to the next gathering which hopefully will see us in Penang! =)

Letting go

It was with heartfelt sadness when I heard the passing of a lady whom I did not know that long (but well enough) on 2 May 2010. The brave lady was the wife of one of our firm's client and she met her Lord at the end of a long and arduous battle with breast cancer.

I attended her wake on 3 May 2010 together with my dad. While we are definitely not Christians, we found the service extremely moving and minus the references to religion, was definitely an experience. But then again, apart from my boss who attended as well and the family members who definitely know I'm a Muslim, I believe no one else knew we are not of the Christian faith.

Songs were sang and eulogies were shared about a life which was well lived for 52 years and yet, cut short by the disease. In fact, the last eulogy by her husband was most beautiful. It was not long like others before him or plain cheap (I absolutely detest one eulogy where the speaker managed to use the deceased lady in promoting her dvd and book. Come on, it's a wake for heavens sake. Leave your business alone.) and yet, managed to move me to tears. He didn't speak much but what he said were worth remembering. He joked that the wife found in him what she has always prayed for. He sang the song which according to him, was played at their wedding almost 25 years ago. Finally, he recounted the last moments before his wife drew her last breath.

In his words, the family was prepared for the worst two weeks before her actual passing. They came and took shifts in taking care of her. And when they sensed it was time, they spoke to her in Hokkien and told her to 'lu kia la' (to go). Everyone had uttered those words to let her go save for the lady's mother. I can't imagine the pain of having one's child dying before the parents and I don't wish for the pain to be inflicted on anyone else. It's almost akin to going against nature when your child dies before you and no matter how old your child is, I believe the mother still thinks of her daughter as a mere girl. The mother was sad and yet, wanted the daughter to hold on for just one more day because the next night was the mother's turn to look after the deceased. I believe she must have felt that she has failed in her duty as her mother.

And yet, the deceased somehow clung to life until other family members persuaded the mother to let the daughter go. Once the mother uttered 'lu kia la', only then did the deceased breath her last.

At that point, I was shedding tears because the significance of the 'lu kia la' was a repeat of what happened to a close family friend. The lady in question too clung to her life (she was suffering from ovarian cancer) until her mother whispered in her ears for her to go.

I guess there's truth in letting go. And unless the person (usually the mother) allows the soul to leave the body for another world, death somehow remains hovering for absolution.

Kathryn left behind 3 young children and her beloved husband.

In her memory, I share this poem -

Do not stand at my grave and weep,I am not there,

I do not sleep.I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,I am in the graceful rushOf beautiful birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.I am in the flowers that bloom,I am in a quiet room.

I am in the birds that sing,I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,I am not there. I did not die.

- Mary Elizabeth Frye (1904-2004)