A girl and her cat

I really wanted this to be a typical "boy and his dog" story but I know that "a girl and her cat" has quite a different connotation to it. However, I digress.

Anyone who knows me even mildly knows that I love cats. Not like the collect-as-many-cats-as-I-can person or the rescue-as-many-cats-as-possible person. I've had cats as pets ever since I was 4 years old. My first cat was Big Kitty, but we had to leave her in Montreal when we moved. The times I have been petless are very few and far between.

Despite the many cats I've had the priveledge of owning over the years, none have been more important to me than a Siamese named Mikki. I fell in love with Mikki when I was 17 and I saw her as a kitten. To me, she stood out from the rest of her siblings. She was bred from a cat owned by my then boyfriend's mother who breeds Siamese cats for money.

Now say what you will about Siamese cats but anyone who has ever owned a Siamese will tell you that they are a different kind of pet. They are very much a one-owner kind of cat. I carried her around with me like a mother with a new baby. We were inseperable. Sure, she spent time on my dad's lap watching tv and sitting on my mom's lap helping with the knitting; but when it was time for bed all I had to do was call from the top of the stairs and she would launch from deep sleep to airborn in less than a second. It was a common joke in my family.

I left her behind when I moved to Fredericton but when I got my own appartment, I sent for her. She and I went through several appartments, not to mention boyfriends too. She was one of the few constants in my constantly changing life, always there willing to be a 10 lb weight of comfort on my lap. Did I mention we slept together? Not at the foot of the bed where most cats can be found. Nosiree. Mikki would plod her way up my side to my shoulder. Once her feet were free of the covers I would lift up a little tent large enough for her slim rump and she would rotate once and back her way under until the both of us were snuggled in for the night. I covered her up to the neck and she would spend the next few hours in my armpit, draping her front paws and her chin over my shoulder.

I really could go on; and you're probably thinking I already have and I guess you would be right. At least now you get the feeling of how close Mikki and I were. So let's step into the wayback machine and back up a few years. I was about 17 or 18, and still at the age when you think your parents always know best and even if it did not feel right in your gut; you did what they told you to anyway. We were to spend the long weekend at Grammy's in Hartland, so my mother told me to pack Mikki up and we would take her with us. There was something about this that did not feel like a good idea. I knew that with enough food and water, Mikki would be fine for 3-4 days but Mom insisted that she would be better off coming with us. I obeyed, pushing that gut feeling back down and trying to ignore it.

Mikki did fine in Hartland. She was on her leash most of the time. By the third day I made a poor judgement call and decided she did not need the leash because it was nothing but field all around the house. She did well and stuck close to the house just as predicted. Perhaps the new surroundings became not so new anymore or perhaps she found a bird to chase; we speculated for hours as to why she wondered off that last day. Dad and I called and called for her to come home. Mom and I finally had to head back home without her. Dad was staying up for the rest of the week to fish. I was sick and I hoped my mother was too. It was no one's fault but I blamed her for losing my cat. We agreed that Dad and Grammy would keep watch for her all week and that I would return the following weekend to take up the search again. I truly believed that with Dad there she would find her way back to the house.

The week dragged on with no word from Dad nor Grammy. I knew the longer time went on the less likely we were to get her back. Finally, Saturday came. I skipped breakfast and told my mom in no uncertain terms that I was driving to Hartland to bring back my cat. It was not a request for permission and I'm not really sure she dared to tell me no. To say the week was tense is an understatement.

I arrived in Hartland around noon. Dad and I had a quick lunch and hit the hills armed with a box of kibble and a determination not to fail. We walked around all the fields and hills around the house but did not hear or see anything. Upper Hartland is a quiet sleepy town and if there was a Siamese howl within a half-mile I'm sure we would have heard her. Even better, we were both calling so loudly that we were sure she would hear us and come running. We tossed handfulls of kibble every few meters to entice her to come. It was a beautiful spring day and we were quite fine staying out until supper time. By the end of the day we had knocked on every door and covered several kilometers of land on both sides of the road. Only then, did the notion that she could be gone forever creep into my head. I have no recollection of the rest of the day. I can't remember if we went back out again or just kept an ear to the back door. These are minor details.

I guess I slept ok. Like most septuagenarians, Grammy was up with the sun. I could hear her downstairs. My will to get up was not exactly strong. I layed there wondering what my next step should be. Grammy did something by the back door, I could hear her puttering around on the back porch. The moment she called my name was quite possibly one of the happiest days in my recollections. She said my cat was out in the back yard a few meters from the door. I donned enough clothing to make me decent and flew down the stairs. I stood in the back doorway looking across the field at the happiest sight I have ever seen. I could tell that Mikki was happy to see me but with Grammy standing right behind me she was hesitant to approach; all the while screaming that classic Siamese howl that we all know sounds like a collicky baby at 3 am. I was petrified that Mikki would bolt at the sight of Grammy but I still did not have enough gumption to tell her to back away. When Grammy asked me if the box of food would help I was all for the idea which served the purpose of getting her out of Mikki's line of sight. Once I had said box of food, the last bit of hesitation left Mikki and she ran to me with vigor. I grabbed her and immediately shut the back door so she could not escape again. I cannot tell you how relieved I was that day to finally have my cat back after a long week of seperation. It sounds cheesy but there really was always the knowledge that I would get her back. Call it denial perhaps. I like to call it a love story.

Mikki and I enjoyed many years together. Like I said before, she saw me through many apartments, many boyfriends, my husband, the purchase of my house and she got to know my only child. I'm happy to say that my son got to know and love her almost as much as I did. She was a very likeable cat.

I was 34 when Mikki died. We were together for literally half my life. Walking for her became a very strained chore. Her hips seemed to be too heavy for her to support. I made an appointment with the vet where they took blood and said they would call me with more information. The next day, the vet called. The information I got was that they could do more but it would only buy her (me) a few more months. Now I'm a pretty level-headed person but I wanted my cat to live forever. The level-headed side of me knew that, since I was completely responsible for the life Mikki had, the right thing to do was to be responsible for her death as well. So I told the vet I would bring her in. Picking Mikki up was easy because at this point she could no longer walk. My husband said he goodbyes and my son gave her a kiss on her head. Then the two of us got in the car. This was something I wanted to do by myself.

I got to the vet and their policy is that all cats be crated. I said look at her, is it really necessary? They knew why I was there and with a cat that resembled a wet dishrag, they agreed to let me sit in a room, just the two of us and wait in private. Since I did not have an appointment, that meant waiting until closing time when all the other appointments were done. I think the total wait time was about an hour but it felt like 3 because of the restored church pew I was sitting on. Every time I moved, Mikki would moan. It was gut-wrenching and I tried not to do it much but gradually my limbs lost feeling and I had little choice. The staff equipped me with a box of tissue and I was very grateful. A technician came in and fitted Mikki with a catheter in her arm. About half an hour later the doctor delivered the fatal injection that ended Mikki's pain and our time together. She was already limp but I was happy that she died in my arms while resting her head on my chest. I'm not a Christian, but I cannot bear to think that Mikki is anywhere but in a better place now. Our house is still filled with portraits of her, and even now, more than 8 years later, my son and I still say to each other how much we miss Mikki.

I've owned several cats since Mikki but none of them have been Siamese. I would love to own another Siamese and maybe someday I will. Now is not the time. There will never be another cat like Mikki. She is desperately missed and I hope she is happy.