It's hard to maintain a blog. This is my second post, after a year.
It's also hard to get attached to something in Vietnam and even harder when they take it away from you. If you leave anything outside your house during the night, it will probably be stolen in the morning. If you have a cat, someone may just kill it or eat it.
Cato, Not Now is no longer with us. Around christmas she suddenly stopped coming home and in Vietnam that means: eaten. I loathe those barbarians who have no respect for others or other people's property. I will probably never find out who did it and my girlfriend won't be of any help. She knows the scumbag who did it will experience a hard time and then we may be in big trouble. I'm afraid when I face that person I might do something I normally don't do. All the frustrations I have picked up in normal daily life in the past three-four Vietnam-years may surface again, resulting in something terrible. Eating my cat is a definite no.
It reminds me of Cato, Not Now's grandmother. I knew that cat, since we got one of her kittens, Cato, Not Now's mother. One day the neighbour we got her from was in tears. Someone she knew had smashed the cat's skull and thrown her onto the roof. He didn't even bother to remove the blood in front of his own door. So she knew who did it and that was it.
All three brothers and sisters of Mimi, Cato, Not Now's father, were stolen by someone. I don't know what happened, but I can imagine it.
We still have two cats and one of them loves roaming around. And he is the one we really got attached to. If something similar happens to him............
