The Cat – Or a One-Sided Coin

I had a cat. Wrong - I had The Cat. Wrong again - I served The Cat. 

I would look after him when he was sick, taking him to the vet. I'd wash his wounds from fights and those nasty deep cuts from crossing the barbed wire fences (I hate those f****** barbed wires!). I would listen to his silent stories, feed him, and talk to him. We would often walk together on the wavy countryside paths. We were two sides of a coin.

Every cat I served, and continue to serve, was and is The Cat. But that cat was the one that actually made me see, notice and listen to cats. And when, on many occasions, I failed to understand his kind, when I also failed him and let him down - he, however, never left me. He was old, 12...14 years of age, when we met. Maybe he knew he didn't have much time left, and I was the only one who followed him.

The Cat was ginger. The Cat was big. He was so big, that my friend couldn’t believe he was a cat and asked me ‘What is this?’ I said ‘It’s a cat’. She then said ‘No. Stop it. I’m serious. What is it?’… that was soo funny. The Cat was beautiful and extremely intelligent. He was incredibly, and I mean incredibly, strong and calm. The Cat was as gentle as a kiss. He was also the alpha and ruled all the cats in Charlestown (small town in Mayo). When he slowly approached my ground floor apartment, emerging like a silent shadow of an invisible evil force from behind the corner, all the cats started to behave weirdly. I'd say spooky. It was like they were possessed. They would drop and roll, hiss, and back off. They would start rolling on the ground like madmen... or should I say madcats. They would frantically search for a refuge. Some cats would simply run away. I'd never seen anything like it, not before, not after.

The Cat picked me because I lived in the apartment his previous servant had lived in. I think I got really lucky. I mean it. As I found out later, The Cat had been coming to this place almost every day.

About six years before, the woman who belonged to him had to leave The Cat behind. She moved to Lavy Heights Elderly Housing in Charlestown, where elderly people aren't allowed to have cats or any pets (And they still have the same rule there). In a way, she was forced to choose between having a roof over her head or having The Cat. Welcome to the human world of double standards and cruelty disguised as compassion. The poor woman had no choice.

When I met her (and that's a part of another incredible story about another cat), she told me The Cat’s story, and when she did so, she was crying. She was also happy to know The Cat had someone to look after him after having spent six or so years on the streets, managing to stay alive, evade heavy truck wheels, and get just enough food to live another day. She then gave me a photograph of him. She took it when he was two or three years old, and she still had it on her cabinet since.

She had him from the day he was born. She called him Tippy because she was originally from County Tipperary. The Cat would accompany her to work and meet her when she was coming back home. He was her 'child.' She was his 'everything.' They needed each other. They lived happily together, two sides of a coin… until Lavy Heights parted them.

So, I took him to that woman. And you know what, The Cat remembered her! He actually did! And it was so incredible! So moving! He had no hard feelings, no anger, no sadness toward the woman. He just laid down on her lap and closed his eyes, as he used to do six or so years before. She cried again. You could see she loved him. She felt so bad about leaving him behind. For all these years, she'd been living with that sense of guilt. The Cat, however, didn't seem to have any ill feelings at all. Cats don't hate or judge. They just go on, silently. Telling no one, sharing their burden with no one. And they die the same way: alone and unknown.

I called him Rusty—he was ginger, after all. At first, I thought he was a Scottish Fold because of his ears. But I was wrong. Too many fights and scars had made his ears curl and flop. The first day I met him, I gave him some ham. Then more ham. Then chicken thighs. Then he stayed with me. Then we became one. Then we became two sides of a coin.

A year later, I bought a little cottage. We moved and, of course, took Rusty with us. Our little cottage became his new home. He quickly learned his way around the quaint countryside.

Then, a year later, my nightmare came true. Rusty got sick… really sick. His kidneys failed. We tried everything. We did everything. Nothing helped. Kidney failure—it's a death sentence to cats.

I know what it is to lose loved ones. I know what it is to see a person you love slowly fading away and being absolutely unable to help. Unable to bring them back. I have experienced a lot in life, but that feeling of being useless and helpless is, probably, the worst. This feeling, however, taught me one important thing... or rather a million important things. Be useful to those you love while they're still alive. Love and show them your love while they're still alive. Tell them you love them. Every single day. Help them and let them help you, even if you are okay without being helped. Make them feel important and useful. Maybe then, just maybe, when it’s their time to leave us and cross the rainbow, you will have no regrets. You will still suffer and cry, feel lousy and broken, but just like cats—you will have no regrets.

…The Cat took me for the last walk. He let me help him and watch over him. Man, that was hard… so damn hard. 

… And then… He couldn’t move. He was really bad. I took him to the vet in Charlestown. She knew Rusty. She had stitched him up so many times. She had helped him so many times. She is a good vet and a good human. 

…The cold needle touched his strong, big, ginger body. The thumb dressed in rubber gently pushed the plastic plunger... Then she looked at me and said something like, "He doesn't need this. He's gone." But a fraction of a second before… oh man… that was so hard… the hardest in my life… I saw his bright, sparkly eyes turn dull. I saw that very moment... the moment he crossed the rainbow. Silently. Alone. No sharing burden or pain. He just left me, turning me into a one-sided coin. My heart stopped, but tears didn’t. I took him back home talking to him… yelling… and yelling… over… and over again… all the way, but for the first time, he didn't hear me. Oh man…

I buried him, still warm, in our tiny forest under a big bush of ferns—the spot he had picked on our last walk.

My Rusty crossed the rainbow on 19.04.2018 at 9:40 am. 

…And the bush of ferns gets bigger and stronger with each passing year.