Hot Mess

    It’s hot. It’s arid. The air sizzles like it will spontaneously burst into flames. From afar I can see the horizon blurred by the haze. Freakin Indonesia and their annual ritual of choking us dead.

    I’m drenched, and my arms are sticky and numb from supporting my sweaty forehead when I tried to sleep the heat away but that’s now moot because I’m awake, and annoyed at the smallest things now. The rising temperature somehow lowers the baseline of tolerance. Like this one little fly that’s been bothering me while I was asleep. One. Fly. So annoyed that it was somehow able to circumnavigate the maze of flytraps that I littered across the floor and tabletops.

    Usually, I’ll just wave away this measly pest. But these past few days they’ve been under my radar just from the sheer number of them. There are hundreds of them if not more. I can’t shake them off. Hence the fly traps. There’s something about this hot weather and a dead cat that’s like a perfect combo meal for these little flying nuisances. I didn’t bury the poor, dead cat but by the smell of it, I’m pretty sure the maggots must be having a feast of a lifetime (literally because they’re short-lived). They said curiosity killed the cat, and sure enough, it was Fairus who felt the curiosity to find the killed cat and had the honour to do the burial.

    It was last Wednesday morning that I caught a whiff of death. Ah, it must be a dead rat somewhere next door. By afternoon, it was unbearable. When the wind blows in a certain direction, the stench engulfs my olfactory. If it’s a dead rat it will not smell as big as this, if that makes sense. Because smell does have a volume that correlates to the size of the thing it came from. Funny thing our nose is. 

    And if it’s really a dead rat, by evening, in this kind of heat, the stinging ammonia stench will turn into something that has some sweetness to it, not unlike ikan masin. But this one sustained its aroma. If a dead rat’s smell is eau de toilette, a dead cat is eau de parfum. It lingers even when the wind blows in the opposite direction. Makes me wonder about those occasional cases of cat abusers I read on Twitter (What? I don’t have a Twitter account. Why do you think I have one?). How the fish they can live with rotting cats in their house? Bunch of psychos.

    Talking about psychos, evidently, I have no emotional attachment to cats. Dead cat? Oh, it’s just how life is. Meh. Whatever. I will probably go oh no, not another one?! if it’s me who has to bury the body. So it is kinda amazing to me that people cry over their pets, especially when they have a short life span like hamsters or guinea pigs. Imagine if they pet a fly, waterworks every fifteen days? Yikes.

    But rest assured I’m not a psycho because there’s something so creepy about a thing so animated like a cat to turn cold and stiff. I’ve had my share of burying cats before and I cannot bring myself to touch them barehanded. Picture a teddy bear, it looks fluffy but it’s cold and firm to touch *shudders*. Imagine being a killer who can’t handle dead bodies. That’s a short stint for sure. Definitely not for me, let me find a different hobby, thank you.

    Wait, is that the scent of rain I smell coming? It’s raining, man, Alhamdulillah! Thanks for reading this mindless rambling. Ciao.

Comments

Merentas Horizon said…
Rasa mcm nak menyesal je baca. tp tak pe lah, dah habis pun baca. haha
October 11, 2023 at 9:15 AM
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