Up to this morning, Lucky was here with us, running around and barking. Lucky is a small puppy which Yvonne found on the street. He was a family member to us. Yesterday, Hans and I took him for a walk on the beach. We also got into the water together.

This morning, as soon as I called him, “Lucky!”, he right away followed me downstairs. We went for a short walk nearby. He kept sniffing that huge male dog which didn’t mind it. He was joyful and playful as ever.

Later on, I was watering plants on the roof when I saw Yvonne calling Lucky to get away from the road.

I thought to myself, “Maybe I can call him! He’s not hearing-impaired like me, so he might hear and recognize my voice even from this far distance. Oh, there’s a microbus coming, he won’t hear me. I’ll call him right after this microbus crosses.”

This was it. The microbus I waited for to cross was the one that hit Lucky. I threw the water hose and ran downstairs to find Yvonne carrying Lucky in her arms, telling me, “He’s dead!”.

He was in here, and in a blink of an eye, he was gone. I wasn’t prepared to lose him, none of us was ready to lose him.

Death is cruel, especially when it happens without further ado. It doesn’t allow us even a moment to say goodbye or take it in.

Coincidentally, a few days ago, I read an article talking about illness and death, saying that: “Life is a transitional phase. Death is the only truth. We are born to die. The best bet is to accept our death. We live to eventually arrange for our death.”

I thought I had a build-up resistance with every time I received death shocks but I was wrong. I still find it difficult to accept death and I don’t think I will ever be able to deal with it properly and maturely.

Yvonne said that her daughter and the other deceased cats would take care of Lucky. That was kind and reassuring. I hope all of them, and all those who lost their lives in Gaza, Sudan, Congo, are in a peaceful place, without accidents, wars or suffering!

Rest in peace, Lucky!