Hanaia the Hanacat

48 of 108
Hanaia
100% Happy
Owner
froot
Stolen
1 Apr 2023
Hatched
27 Apr 2023
3,598 +5
Views
871 +1
Clicks
801
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Essence of Litsdnats
Stage Frozen
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нαиαια
"ɪ ᴍᴜsᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ғʟᴏᴡᴇʀs,
ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs."
— ᴄʟᴀᴜᴅᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴇᴛ


ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ғʀᴏᴏᴛ's ʙᴇʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ.
ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴜᴘ ғᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀᴅᴇ.
*ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ 100 ᴍᴀᴄʙᴏᴛs.
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sᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀʏ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴛʀᴜʟʏ

praise song for my mother
this poem shares a title, but i know better than to
label something for what it is not. i know better than
to make excuses for my husband who will drive an
hour for his favourite noodles but not for his firstborn
who rests in a hospital bed from hyperpyrexia. she will
awake to find that her daddy did not come, that he lied
when he said he loved her like he lied to her mother
who has no roses to flaunt in february, who spends
every night alone with swollen eyes, red and pricked by
tears while her children lay sleeping in tucked beds.
they do not know that she lives vicariously through them
as she laments the tinges of silver in her hair, which
i tell her i can barely see whenever she looks in the
mirror. my myopia is a badge i wear with pride for all
the nights spent under covers breathing words, painting
worlds where cinderella had no kitchens to clean nor
floors to sweep. mother tells me to be careful, that if he
hurts you once he’ll do it again, even if he gets on his
knees and grovels at your feet and says sorry sorry
sorry
. he is sorry to lose face. sometimes i wonder what
could have been if i were not a chapter in my mother’s
book, if we were not the dust gathered on the rotting
trophy cup of a married man who never wears his ring.


dear cardboard granny
it hurts my spine
to look at you
folded like the
treasure in your

trolley rattling over
every bump and
pebble as you
push past the care

home to the rubbish
collection point.
i hope they pay
you handsomely.


paper planes
how have you been doing? this is just to say that
your cat is doing fine, but i think he misses you.
the skies are just as grey here: the typhoon
tore Neighbour Lee’s pear tree down and i thought
of you. you are three months away and i don’t
miss you at all. i saw your favourite fried noodles
through the restaurant window and i just had to go
in. the spring onions were just as green as the bile
your cat threw up the other day but i promise you
the vet says he’s doing fine. you are two years
away but the skies are blazing now and spilling
blood into the ocean so come back and let us
lay in our fields of strawberry stars and
soak ourselves in summer sun
let us live
while the stars still burn
for us.



midnight
look the sky is burning
bleeding through pierced tourniquet
the stars spill into the ocean
make a wish and
we will send them back up
one by one


dear ralph
it pains me to watch your
parched brush quiver in
the air, elbows jerking and
jolting passionately now
if only they were streaks
of dripping blue on the-
sorry! ralph, could you be
a bit more careful please

and you are moved to the
edge because you can’t
so my hand is on yours
now let’s try again for the
millionth time to drown in
those waters like i do in
those glossy goldfish orbs
you haunt me with. i know
this isn’t kindergarten and
i know you want me to let
go just know i would bring
the ocean to you if i could.


the goldfish theory
the old man down the street bears
a scar - angry, raw, jagged
at the seams of his neck
membranous flaps rolling, folding.
often his crinkled claw caresses the ghost
below his chin, hover
over what used to be.

he used to know my name. back then
dark masses clutched trembling doubling
bubbling beneath paper flesh, burrowing.
flourishing.

i draw life from the eyes of a cadaver,
frozen with unshed tears,
of wrinkles and curves in
faces they used to know,
unjustly wrenched.

sometimes i look at him
and wonder if he misses me.
you never know when you wish
upon a star long dead.


i like the way the rain falls
often i find myself
watching wispy water
suspended in the air,
unafraid.
unlike the soft pitter-patters
as they serenade,
as they slip into the ground,
becoming one -
i would fall alone.


chasing butterflies
butterflies are beautiful,
and what is beautiful is good.
that is not a secret.
i used to swing my nets, trying to catch them.
they scrutinise us now,
theorising metamorphosis,
but i was never a caterpillar.
they swat, but we are not pests.
we just want to watch the flowers bloom.
this is a story of love
more tragic than that of romeo and juliet,
a cunning needle weaving fantasies,
a flag i yearn to wave.
my hands peel red as roses, reaching,
though i dare not touch the sky.
someday the thorns will not prick;
someday the sun will not scald our waxen wings;
someday we will be, and
we will have no god to fear.


Ignorance
There is nothing warm
About the ice caps. No harm
From rising depths.
Do they not replenish?
There is nothing
We can do about the air. Why
Do fruits grow if not for harvest?
Life is plentiful! We
Just mow the lawn.
Heed this: when the ground melts
And the flowers burn,
There will be nothing. You will not
Cry over drops knowingly spilled.
Gold is not a plaything.


modern politics
ten full cups of thoughts and prayers for
the burning and a heaping teaspoon of
those - what are those again? ah yes -
condolences and make sure they go deep
as that knife slicing through the butter
salted but don’t let them know that the
fall of the market is all you care about
that and your cuisine as parentless
infants starve among the ashes or lay
perforated- oh sorry, are you trypophobic?
this must be triggering for you let’s call
a doctor, the bleeding men and choking
children and withering elderly will just have
to wait for you to put your mask on just
remember there are four asphyxiated for
every time you can’t be bothered to lift your
arm up to hook that cloth around your ear.
fly your planes and drop your cubes of sugar
squeezed from the lives of unpaid immigrants
and their dreams you devour with the prices
they pay to exist. the world is burning but
you’ll be gone by then.


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About Hanacat Eggs

Hanacat eggs all have a flower stuck to them. These flowers will gradually fall off, petal by petal, and when all the petals have fallen off the egg will hatch. Studies conducted by the SAR Center show that Hanacat eggs hatch the quickest when placed on soft bedding and exposed to sunlight. The petals have healing properties, so they are highly sought out by doctors and herbalists. If someone forcefully removes the petals, however, the petal will shrivel up and all its medicinal properties will be lost, becoming highly poisonous. The petal will grow back after some time, however, giving the person a second chance to raise the creature correctly.

About the Hanacat Creature

Young Hanacats are incredibly shy and will go out of their way to avoid contact with other creatures. They hide in the shadows of the Forest during the day, which makes them to be incredibly elusive. They are also highly curious and will come out of their hiding places at night to explore. Once outside, they are playful and enjoy frolicking around in Ark City. As they grow older, they leave the Forest more often, and become more sociable. An older Hanacat is more easier to tame than a young one. When domesticated, Hanacats are loyal and affectionate companions, making them great pets. They still retain their curiosity, however, so fragile items should not be kept near Hanacats.

Once a grown adult, the Hanacat's flower petals lose their healing qualities but still retain their beauty.