100-Word Memoir

A monsoon in my eyes, a tempest in my heart

Photo of raindrops falling on water while a small paper boat bobs up and down.
Photo by MItodru Ghosh on Unsplash

It was raining hard that warm autumn afternoon. The ambient heat was nowhere as oppressive as in summer in the plains, relieved only by cloudbursts. Nor was the sky dark, gloomy, gravid with stormy monsoon showers. I stepped out onto the street sans umbrella; rain pouring from a hazy, sunlit sky drenched me cap-à-pie, water streaks down my cheeks perfectly concealing two streams of tears. Unfathomable emotions welled up inside my chest, threatening to suffocate me unless I had that lachrymose release of my grief.

For I knew, somehow, I would never get to see or hug my grandmother again.

Oh, and trying out the tagging thing: KiKi Walter, Preeti Ramachandran, Gaurav Jain, Bernice Puzon, Drashti Shroff, et alia.

Damn. Every single line of this essay? It me.

Is it bad that my wife and I still display all these behaviors towards our catbabies, never mind it has been more than 7 years since we rescued them at 4- and 6-months old from a high kill shelter in Florida? That my iCloud photos have over 10,000 snaps and about 95% of them are of one or both of los bebés gato?