A Tale of Four Cats
This should really be a tale of two cats, but life doesn't work that way.
The two cats were Pizza and Pappadam. We let the kids name then. Pizza was a fluffy, black, slightly grey cat. Search "Norwegian Forest Cat" for an idea of what he looked like. Absolutely beautiful, and quite the character.
I remember having my parents around for dinner, and Pizza spent half an hour having a grand-old chat with my dad -- and my dad doesn't like cats!
Then, when they went to leave, my mum leaned over to put on her shoes and Pizza jumped onto her back to use as a seat. Mum didn't know what to do.
Then there came Pappadam. He is just a tabby, and the sweetest creature you could ever meet. He regularly climbs into bed with the kids to sleep. He always wants a cuddle, sometimes even a smooch. He often visits me at night when I am reading in bed, and he just wants the most amazing pats ever. He even loves a belly-pat, which is pretty special.
Pizza and Pappadam: they were a bonded pair. They slept curled up around each other, ate together, played together. I have never had two cats that have been so close. We used to take them to the vet together even if only one cat needed an appointment, just to keep them together.
Then Pizza went mad and we had to put him down. It was heartbreaking, because he was a healthy cat. But multiple vets told us the same thing: it was safest to put him down.
Pappadam changed overnight. He would walk around crying. He became more of a kitten, and became very vocal with us. He was clearly mourning his brother. And so were we.
So, in time, we got a third cat: Snowy. This one was a beautiful white kitten. Very playful, very friendly.
There were two problems:
- He was deaf
- Pappadam didn't like him.
Actually, there were three problems: the vet that was fostering him had become attached and didn't really want to give him up.
So we had a cat that couldn't hear us, that our cat didn't like, and whose previous carer really wanted as a pet. Yeah, we had to give him back. It wasn't right for us to keep him.
I think I was the most heart broken. But my son took it very stoically. It was the first pet he had gotten to name, and he only had him for three weeks.
And then, on Friday, we got the fourth cat: Steve. Again, we let our son name him. Again, it ended badly.
This cat was a tuxedo cat, and very smoochy at the vets. But, as soon as we brought him home, he became skittish and terrified and hid. Which was fair enough: this was his new home.
So we locked him in his own room with food, water, and litter. He would be fine there.
Only ...
... Somehow, during the day or maybe at night, he had managed to climb up the flywire protecting the window and disappeared through the crack. The window was open because the cat had pissed on his towel and the room stank. And it was open maybe an inch. And there was a wire mesh screen held tight to stop anything getting in or out.
He must have flattened himself like a lizard.
And so, once again, we are down to one cat. It's possible Steve will come back. He's got a microchip; it's registered to us. But this cat was probably a stray, had never had a home. Maybe it was too much for him.
Which sucks, and I feel like such a failure. I never even got a chance to pat him. I was waiting until he felt comfortable before giving him any attention. He never even had a chance to be our pet.
Will my boy ever want to name a pet again?