Cats of My Life

I used to have a cat named Hunter. He was friendly, cuddly, and had soft dark grey fur. When he was young, I would leave him in my bathroom to go to work. All alone, Hunter had himself, his litter box, his bowl of milk, sardines, and some makeshift toys he could scratch and claw at. I would come home from work and find that Hunter had, in some way, menaced my bathroom. Whether it was tearing through a whole roll of toilet roll, or flinging his shit and sand from his litter box all over the floor, he found his way. Of course, I could only be so angry at him. Anger would quickly be replaced with cuddling, petting, and eventually, when I would fall asleep, him kneading at my tummy with his claws ever-so-slightly pricking my skin. When I awoke, and he slept, I would carefully take him off my body and go and clean up his mess and prepare his food and milk for the next morning.

What I liked most about Hunter was that he always wanted to hang out. He was not like other cats. Nose in the air. Tail straight and arrogant. Nope. Not Hunter. He was about the chilling life and we vibed on countless occasions. We smoked weed together until he geeked out, and, he and I would share cheese and meet slices to cure the munchies. Or, him asleep by my side as I read a book or did some work on my laptop.

Hunter grew to be an athletic and strong cat. The four walls of my bathroom were becoming a hindrance to his needs. So, we transitioned him to being an outside cat.

The outside world became his litter box, and when people came over, I pointed at him proudly, saying, “That is my cat, Hunter.” Now, when I would arrive home from work he rather came and found me. Purring with his tail up, he would slide in between my feet, hooking and scratching his ears at the ends of my shoes. I knew he wanted something pointier, so I would take off my shoes and socks and curl up my big toe for him to rub his ears on. You could find me for many minutes satisfying this need of his. Or, flattening him on his back with my foot and rubbing him against the rough surface. With my foot pressed on his warm tummy, he would fall into some state of reverie until finally, his cat instincts would kick in, and he would jerk himself up and run off. Embarrassed that he could find so much enjoyment from my foot.

There was another time, I raised a cat called Heidi. She was a glorious, beautiful kitten of steely grey smooth fur, green eyes, and a wild bushy tail. She wasn’t so beautiful as a kitten. Small, squeamish and rather rat-like. Unkempt and tangled fur. Always hiding (and thus her name Heidi!). Always frightened of the milk and the social contract it brought with it. Eventually, I broke her into the lifestyle. Or, rather, she had no choice. For other kittens, they quickly understand the contract. Food is guaranteed if cuddling is provided for. Obviously, my relationship with my kittens was more intense. We lived and grew together. I took particular care to raise them well. Got them to respond to names. To clean up after themselves and to not be too destructive.

With Heidi, it was a bit harder to gain her affection than with Hunter. I was always playing to her games. I couldn’t resist her. Her nonchalance could drive me crazy.

In the time Heidi was getting older, she would watch me type away at my laptop for hours until she eventually took it upon herself to lie across the keyboard. Then her green eyes would find mine and then she would blink and stretch herself wide and yawn, a big foolish yawn. And I would know that no more work was to be done that day.

She had yielded a bit now to me, so affection wasn’t so hard to get from her.

Getting to the time of her outside life, Heidi, much like Hunter, found joy in being outdoors. Climbing on trees. Scratching at the bark. Lying on top of our dog in the house as he slept. Brushing her bushy tail against his nose so he would wiggle it until he sneezed and then re-positioned himself. Heidi wouldn’t mind this. She would just climb back on and continue to swish away.

Heidi became quite vain in her grown-up years. She had an eye for a good picture of herself. Whenever I would take my phone out she quickly searched for a backdrop befitting of her beauty. On a stomp, she placed herself in the middle, paws firm, tail arched, head tilted toward me, imploring me to turn my camera on and take her picture. Eyes wide in all its felinity.

She held the posture to allow me to snap multiple shots. After she was satisfied, she would prance down and pad away, her bushy tail swinging from side to side.

I gave a lot of love to both cats. They gave it back to me in their own ways. I don’t know where they are now. They just seemed to disappear one after the other. Cats like to go and come as they please. So a couple of days can pass by without you seeing them. Then that can be three days, four, five. Then gone forever it seems. And in Accra, that could mean many things. Stew. Roadkill. Stolen. Who knows. But it hurt me to think of the unknown for them. That they would be afraid. And it still hurts me to know that I couldn’t see them be who they could have grown up to be. My cats. How they would lay on their tummies and watch the world around them move about. Unblinking. Unfazed. Then fall into some sort of paralysis, stretched out and eyes glazed with a faraway look. How I would just find them quite plainly hiding in some bush ready to ambush my foot.

There is no better feeling than that feeling of having your cat caress between your feet. Purring with delight. And you bending down to pick them up, cradling them against your chest, half against their will, half wanting even more.

It took me a while to try again to raise a kitten. A cat somewhere in the neighborhood gave birth to a handsome litter of kittens. One kitten stood out to me. A kitten with black fur and white spots. A white face, but with a black nose.

Moo. That is what I called her and I handled her like I did Hunter and Heidi.

We grew together. I fed her. I petted her. I let her curl and scratch at my toe. She let me scratch her ear. It was like this. But it wasn’t the same as with the others. I kept a bit of myself outside of my relation with Moo. The thoughts of my other cats made me hesitant. What had happened to them? I still didn’t know and pondered with grief.

I just couldn’t give it all to Moo. The biggest difference being that I raised Moo outside the house. A degree of separation. A degree of her learning to be in the outside world. Maybe she felt that too, this distance. But we continued like we did and then one day Moo was pregnant.

I was so excited. I cut a cardboard box for her. Put some old towels inside and placed her in the box so that she knew that it was her home. I brought her her bowl of milk. Each day I came home from work, I would stay by her side and pet her and let her know that she would be a great mother. She purred and blinked at me. Then she would let her head fall and who knew if she was asleep or awake, but she seemed peaceful.

Cats do not like to give birth in public. They like to find a private place to give birth. And so, one day, Moo disappeared for a few hours and no one in the house knew where she was until we heard squeals coming from my car. I looked round and round and couldn’t find the exact source of the squeals. Then I poked my head under the car and saw her curled up with her kittens all scratching and clawing for her nipples, which were already swelling and pinking.

Not all the kittens made it past the first few weeks but we managed it together.

The kittens grew up and we arranged for them to find other homes. We had a couple stay in our compound. But they soon grew up and found their own territories, I could only assume. But then Moo also disappeared one day. I searched for her all over the house each day, then the neighborhood, asking people if they had seen her, or if they had any information at all.

Nothing. I was heartbroken. I couldn’t understand how this had happened again.

Time did its thing. It pulled at me and pushed me to just keep on. Where do you begin to pick yourself up again? When do you find it in yourself to let go? To accept that under the sun, all things are equal and we are just dust, or whatever. The clouds rolled over the world. And things just continued. Then one day, many years later, while on a walk, I saw Moo on the sidewalk. She was lying on her tummy with her paws out. I wasn’t sure it was her but I stepped closer and saw the black nose and knew. I kneeled and motioned for her to come. She got up, tail up, and came closer. I removed my shoe and stuck my big toe out. She looked at it, even swiped playfully, and then she dove in. Head first, scratching her ear and purring herself silly. I picked her up and held her close to my chest.

I thought to bring her home with me. But she had found a new place for herself. So I placed her down and bid her adieu. I continued my walk but turned for a final glance at Moo. She was looking at me, on her tummy and paws out again.

*THE END*