The life of a shivering cat was fading in my arms. I trembled, but not from the cold wind that kept hitting my bare cheeks. I had had her for three years since I was seven, since she was just a kitten and her soft, golden fur was almost too delicate to be touched.

As I held my crouched cat in my arms, I wondered what she thought at that moment. Perhaps she was thinking about the two kittens she had given birth to a week ago. Her eyes were closing now; soon her heartbeat would stop. For a moment, I was unable to cry; there are times when you are beyond tears.

My grandpa put my cat in a bag. We then walked to the Dong Nai River, one of the biggest rivers in South Vietnam, where we placed her body. Dusk caused the ruby fireball in that sapphire sky to cast a glittering reflection over the rippling water. Flocks of birds were heading toward their home in the greenness of the distant palm trees. The noise of the crickets, the whistling of the breezes and the rustling of the leaves sounded so depressing as my cat's body floated down stream with the river current.

That night, I sat on the balcony, looking at the blurry, watery moon. All kinds of thoughts ran through my mind. The idea of losing someone I love scared me. I glanced toward the other corner of the balcony; the two little kittens were crouching next to each other. I realized from then on I must cherish what I had, because when something is gone I can never get it back.