Garden ramblings

When we first moved from an apartment to a house at the beginning of the century, I started getting into gardening big time. In a way it distracted me from the fact that I still could not get pregnant despite years of trying. I had never had a garden before and it was quite a novelty to see plants flourish because of or in spite of my so-called nurturing. Various plants and flowers grew in my garden, sunflowers, peas with its beautiful deep indigo flowers, bushes of fragrant jasmine, i even tried growing aubergines at one point. Then I went through a roses phase - so many types of roses, deep red blooms, huge pink ones, tiny baby pink roses, beautiful yellow roses. When they bloomed, I sometimes clipped a few to give the little girl, Mira, who lived next door.

A large part of why I loved gardening had to do to with my faithful gardening buddy, Munchy, who used to accompany me there all the time, paws perched on top of the pot plants I was weeding, shaking said paws furiously when some fresh soil got stuck between his nails, nestling up against me from time to time to let me know he was there. He always kept me company in the garden and loved to chase and jump for butterflies and grasshoppers.

When I happily conceived, I still spent a lot of time sitting out in the garden, stroking Munchy as he sat in my lap, even as my belly grew and there was hardly any space for him to sit.

Then on December 19 2005 Munchy suddenly dissapeared. I had seen him jumping around the lawn in the morning but he didn't return in the evening nor later that night though I stayed up for him, calling out his name. I didn't sleep well that night, I kept dreaming that he had come home and woke up several times convinced that he had. The next day, my husband walked up and down our streets and the neighbouring streets calling out for him, to no avail. The following day I walked around the entire residential area with my 8 month belly, calling out his name. I asked the neighbourhood kids if they had seen him. I called the local vet who used to treat him to check if anyone may have brought Munchy in and burst into tears while I was on the phone. "Please call me Dr Chong," I begged him, "if anyone brings in a white cat, any cat and I'll come to check if it's Munchy." I remember the doctor speaking to me very kindly, he knew I was pregnant from the last time I saw him and I think he was trying to prepare me for the worst.

And of course, that was what happened,the inevitable worst. My beloved Munchy, my sweet boy, my faithful gardening buddy was found just 5 doors down our street, in the deep drain in front of one of our neighbour's driveway. I was at work but my husband was home and told me that Munchy was dead. His mouth had some foam around it and we suspect he may have been poisoned after chewing off some grass which had been sprayed with pesticide. His body had sadly deteriorated after how many days in that drain but I was adamant that he be buried. I hated my job with a vengeance at that point, I so desperately wanted to leave but couldn't, I wanted to be with my Munchy even if his body was already bloated. In the end, my husband got an Indonesian worker to lift Munchy's body out of the drain. I wanted Munchy to be buried in our garden, in the garden where we had spent so many happy hours together, where I could bring my child later to see his grave and point out to her the best cat in the world who had lighted up my life and brought me so much joy. But alas, the Indonesian worker was afraid that his boss might catch sight of him working in our garden when he should have been at his worksite so instead, he and my husband took Munchy way across the main road down to some tree'd area and buried Munchy deep amongst the bushes. To this day I regret that I did not insist for Munchy to be buried in our garden. I regret not thinking of offering that Indonesian worker any amount of money to bury Munchy in our garden. I regret not leaving the office immediately regardless of whether I would get fired to come and see Munchy one last time and bury him myself in the garden if needs be.

He was my buddy, my sweetest boy, my best friend and I still don't know where he's buried.

I let the garden die after that. I didn't care anymore now that my gardening buddy was gone. The roses died first, wilted and dried up. The peas went next. I no longer cared.

The years passed and the weeds blossomed. The jasmine and melati surprisingly survived despite lack of any care whatsoever.

Last Friday, I dug out a small watering can I had forgotten about. My 3 year old daughter followed me to the garden. She watched as I finally watered the melati plant after years of neglect. And then she insisted on watering the jasmine and some other potted plants that had miraculously survived. I watched her as she pottered around the plants. My new gardening buddy. I'm thinking of getting her a little bench so that she can sit under the melati tree with its white blooms falling around her. But I'll always remember the first one who used to share the garden with me. How I wish he was buried here. I would never then think of moving.