May ’05

No. 18 

By coincidence, this edition of Departed Friend is all about cats.   I received within a short space of time four very moving tributes to four very special friends.  The testimonies are quite different from each other, but there is a common thread that runs through them all – the deep bond of love, which cannot be broken even by death.

 TRIBUTE TO LUCY

 It was a chilly Sunday afternoon in April 2002.  I was at the Cat Rescue and there you were – purring loud as if to say:  “Pick me!  Over here!”  But we had seen you, sweetheart – a tabby cat called Lucy.  Somebody came the day before, told them your name and that you were six, and then went.  I think you were older than six.  I know you were.

You came home with us; you were purring so loud as if to give a good impression.  Our vet checked you over and noticed you had a very sore mouth and gums.  You only had one tooth; it must have been a  problem for most of your life, he said.  You couldn’t yawn properly as it hurt you.   He gave you an injection and then another.  After six weeks, you were happy and contented, given the right food, and it settled down. 

You had lived with us for six months when a young black and white cat appeared in the garden and, after a week, we took her in and we called her Jessie.  You weren’t keen at first but after a few weeks you got used to each other and became friends.  Every so often, though, you let her know who the boss was.

You didn’t go out much.  We bought you a scratching post.  You loved it – we called it your hugging post.  Your nickname was ‘Lucy Juicy.’

You sat in your chair on a blanket most of the time, peaceful and quiet – until one day you wouldn’t sit in your chair any more; you sat in a corner looking depressed.  So it was off to the vet again.  He gave you a blood test which showed your kidneys were failing; you were very dehydrated. 

They kept you in for a week on a drip and we used to visit you.  They sent you home on medication to help control it – and you seemed OK for a few months: still purring away with that special purr.

Until last weekend.  You suddenly took a turn for the worse.  You were very ill; your blood levels had got too bad, your eyes were sad.   We took you for the last time to the vets and as you sat there, I kissed you and held you and spoke to you – and you still purred with that special purr until you fell asleep and our hearts broke.

God Bless darling Lucy Juicy. 

We will always love you.

Mum and Dad

Our deepest sympathy to the Francis Family in their loss, and may Lucy rest in peace now after her illness.

TRIBUTE TO JAMEELA

We called her Jameela because of its Arabic meaning – ‘The Beautiful One’ and she lived up to her name.

Her large pyramid shaped ears were a reminder of her Eqyptian ancestry and feral parentage: she was the first domesticated cat from the generations of wild felines that bred profusely in the bush surrounding her original owners’ home.  We joked that Jameela wore eye make up and lipstick, for her huge yellow green eyes looked for all the world as if they were lined with kohl and her pert mouth as if she was wearing bright pink lipstick.  The rather lopsided black markings on her face and head gave her a coquette look, as if she was wearing a black beret, pulled down over one eye.

Despite her rakish headgear and oversized ears, Jameela had style and confidence, and there was no doubt whatsoever that she was female.

 Jameela spent her first year in our huge garden in South Africa, full of massive vegetation and pampas grass.  Whenever my husband did the gardening, Jameela would trot after him.  The older she grew, the further she would venture, jumping on his shoulder as he dug the garden.  He was her best friend.

Despite her looks, Jameela’s taste in men left a lot to be desired.  As she matured, instead of attracting the handsome males that we’d hoped for, a series of scrawny Toms started to appear in the house, at all times of the day and night.  “Not again!!” we would groan, as yet another shamefaced Tom lurked around the garden or in our living room, then jump out of the window, having shared her food.  Needless to say Jameela was a teenage bride.  Her first mate and father of her kittens was a depleted ginger who had had his one eye on Jameela even before puberty.  Once the deed was done, he disappeared into the bush, never to be seen again.  The heat temperature of the African summer increased, as did Jameela’s tiny body, and she lay sweating with her belly expanding almost to bursting point.  Finally, the heat and Jameela’s agony subsided.  She gave birth during a thunder storm.  At dawn, we heard a squeaking sound and opening the wardrobe door, found that Jameela had given birth to four rat-like kittens.

We were concerned about her size, age – and how our ‘spoilt brat’ would cope with motherhood.  But we needn’t have worried.  Jameela was magnificent.  As the temperatures continued to soar and Jameela’s small frame seemed to shrink, she showed nothing but patience and forbearance as her litter of four sucked away at her swollen breasts.

 “We really must find them a home!” we kept saying, but only parted with one, and Jameela was left with her little family of three:  Buzz, a tortoiseshell  with a black head who wet herself when she was nervous, and was always in trouble, Tasbi, a tortoiseshell with a ‘ban the bomb’ marking on her forehead and a gentle nature, and Sox,  shiny black, shy, with a thick white shirt, moustache and of course, socks. 

 The kittens grew into fine young cats and outgrew their Mum.  But Jameela always remained boss.  We started to call them ‘the Diamond family’, as, when we came home at night and drove along the dark drive way, headlight on, four sets of eyes would shine back at us and then head for home.

 Finally it was time for us to return to England.  “What will you do with the Diamonds?” our friends asked.  “We’ll find them homes…” we replied unenthusiastically.  But as the time drew nearer, we knew we couldn’t.  “Shall we take them back?”  My husband and I looked at each other.  The answer was clear.  We couldn’t possibly leave the Diamonds behind.  Despite their bush life, we felt that they would be happier with us and we couldn’t find the right home with the right care.

Everything fell into place.  The quarantine kennels were near where we were living, so regular visits were easy.  I was to return to England first and the cats would follow a few months later.  During this time, the mischievous Buzz got herself caught in a trap and died.  In retrospect it was the kindest thing that could have happened, as, with her nervous nature and weak kidneys, she may not have coped well with quarantine and the journey over.   But I was devastated.

Finally the ‘Diamonds’ arrived in England.  It was terrible to see them all cooped up, but they were the calmest cats in quarantine, according to the kennel staff.  And Jameela was in full charge.  Whenever I visited, she would insist on having the first cuddle, and push the other cats away to make sure she was given enough attention, before allowing the other two to sit on our lap.

With quarantine drawing to a close, the problem was to rent a house where pets were allowed.  This proved almost impossible, until we found the ideal place, with a cat flap.  It was nothing like their South African surroundings.  A semi-detached, with a fairly small back garden, and a busy road in front of the house.  But there was no doubt in our minds that we had taken the right decision to bring them back to England.

 The little family, relieved to be out of quarantine, adapted to their new surroundings.  The three of them would go out to the back garden and explore, and sit on the back of the settee overlooking the road, peering out.  They became well known in the street, as school children passed by and saw the three of them, lining the back of the settee, and peering out of the window.  As my husband worked in the garden, Jameela took up her old habits, and joined him and perched on his shoulder, just as she had done as a kitten.

 Even though the other two had outgrown their Mum, she was certainly the bossiest of the three, and maintained her coquettish ways and strong personality.

 Soon Jameela displayed strong healing powers.  Whenever either of us was ill, she would come and sit on just the right spot.  Likewise if we were depressed, she would push herself against us and look up, with an expression seemingly from beyond.  She would get a certain look in her eye, almost human, when she was in healing mode, and it was clear to us all that she was ‘connecting’ with another dimension and empathising and urging us to be well or healed.  One lady visited us, and Jameela wouldn’t let her be.  The lady was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and Jameela insisted on sitting on her lap, and purring, looking up at her with ‘that look’ – then butting her head against her chest, looking up again.  This was her healing syndrome.  When Jameela finally left the woman’s lap, she told us that she had been terrified of cats, but now felt no fear.

We decided to buy a  house.  “One off the main road – because of the cats – and with a nice garden area – for the cats” were our first and foremost priorities.  We finally found a suitable home which met these requirements.

 The first night we moved, an Irish neighbour, Margaret, came to visit.  “Don’t you worry,” she assured us, “if anything goes wrong – if you die or anything – this street is very good.  We keep a look out for each other!”  My husband and I were delighted to have such a good neighbour – and often joked about the fact that she reassured us that if we were to die, she would be at hand.  The little trio of cats were thrilled with their new home and still continued to go out together.    Often, and if we were walking home through the park, we would see them perhaps sitting on a shed roof and they would either accompany us, or be there to greet us when we arrived home.

Summer 2003 was a long hot summer.  In August of that year, my husband went away on business for a few days, and I was to go away the day before he arrived home.  I noticed that Jameela seemed very lethargic but put it down to the heat.   I was surprised, though, because Africa had been far hotter and she had endured that even during her pregnancy.

The day of my departure, I didn’t see Jameela. I called and called.  Nothing.  I packed my bags to go.  I felt something was wrong.

 When I called my husband from Africa, I asked after the cats.  “They are all fine!” he said.  “Especially Jameela!”  All was well.  Every time I called up, my husband reassured me that the three Diamonds were in full form.

 I arrived back in the UK.  Just before we reached home, my husband stopped the car.  “I didn’t want to tell you,” he said, “but Jameela died when you were away.  One of the shopkeepers found her in someone’s garden, and gave her to Margaret.  Margaret put her in a box, and surrounded her with leaves and twigs.  She looked absolutely beautiful.”

 The pain of her passing will never go away,  And part of me feels so bad that I didn’t take her to the vet when I noticed her lethargy.  We still don’t know why or how she died.  She was so young and such a character, and so very beautiful.

Our other two cats mourned too.  They had lived symbiotically with their Mum since their birth:  through their journey to England, throughout quarantine and they lay together, grooming each other, with Jameela always the ringleader, always in charge.  The children who loved her so dearly made cards for her.  And one has made a little tombstone for her grave.  She now lies in honour at the bottom of our garden, in her little box, with a beautiful small tree planted on her grave.

My husband and I are still heartbroken.  I don’t think you get over these things.  Even as I write I am in tears!  However strong one’s belief, we are never sure that will see our dear ones again.

There is an African saying.  ‘If you treat a cat well, it will serve you water in the next life – and especially when you reach judgement day.’  I do hope it’s true. 

- Sue Lake

Jameela and two of her babies

DF 17 told the story of the Kaisariani Animal Welfare Association, a dog rescue society in Athens, run by     Mary Malissou.   Mary also looks after a number of cats, and she requested that this tribute to her beloved Simi be published in Departed Friend

13 years have already passed.  That evening in May, hearing the desperate miaowing of hunger and fear in the corner of the street – the two little children 6 and 10 years old came to rescue you.

You were tiny enough to be held in the hand – a few days old.  A common tabby with a red-brown wisp on your neck and two sweet golden eyes – abandoned near the park.

You didn’t even know how to drink milk from the bowl.  “Take it away and leave it where you found it.  It’s impossible to keep a cat in an apartment.”  That was the first comment of Daddy.  At the persistence of the misty eyes of the other 3 members of the family, he soon gave up.  “All right, but you must promise…… Bring a piece of paper to write an agreement and you will all sign it.  We shall call her Simi, to remind you of the word ‘simfonia’ (‘agreement’ in Greek).

a)      You shall not touch it (fleas, germs, hairs).

b)      If, let’s say, if you ever touch it, you will wash your hands immediately.

c)      It will never sit on the couch or bed.

d)      You will obey your mum and take good notes at school…………”

How far that all seems to me.  There have already passed 13 years.

The end of your life came all of a sudden, when we were just sure that nothing would happen to you, you would die with us……..

Now it’s all over.

Now we must learn to live without you, Simi.

It’s really difficult to sit on the sofa without you in our lap.

It’s difficult to sleep without you between our feet.

To look at the fridge or the bookcase without you on it.

It’s difficult to open the door and not see you welcoming us.

It was difficult yesterday, when we were travelling in the ship and you were not in your basket beside me.

 It’s unbelievable how quickly 2 months in our country house had passed and you were absent.  Everything is different now Simi in your absence.  We all thank you though, for what you had been to us all those 13 years, what you had given us and what you had taught us.

Goodbye Simi.    -  Your family

SIMI

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TIFFANY

by Ali Browning

I would like to tell you about Tiffany.  Tiffany was found on the streets of Leeds in 2002 by my friend who is a postwoman.  My friend has 3 cats and 4 rabbits and could not take Tiffany in permanently.  Tiffany was very skinny and frail but she did well at my friend’s house.  My partner Scott and I offered to take her in, bringing us up to five cats.  Tiffany had a huge appetite and ate anything and everything.  She used to pinch donuts off people’s plates and get into the kitchen cupboard and rip open biscuit packets and eat them.

Tiffany had a problem with her thyroid which is what made her eat so much and stay so thin.  She also had a big lump on her chin.  The lump was found not to be cancerous but the vet would not remove it due to risks to Tiffany because of her thinness, frailty and age.  She was guessed to be in her late teens or even twenties.  She had tablets for her thyroid which helped her gain some weight and eat less. 

Tiffany had an annoying habit of parading up and down the kitchen area getting under our feet all the time you were in the kitchen.  She liked to sit in the bathroom and in the bath especially.  She liked to groom us and lick our hair and faces.  Sometimes, in spite of her arthritis, Tiffany had mad kitten moments and played with the toys or ripped up the carpet.

She had a very good Summer in 2004 but then became quite thin and frail in the Autumn.  She stopped eating and drank a lot of water and kept being sick.  Around Samhain (Halloween) she got worse, we were going to take her to the vet but one day she was just sleeping all day.  I later picked her up and she went all floppy, very unlike Tiffany, to let me pick her up.  I lay her on a cushion by the radiator in our bedroom with blankets on her, she got weaker and more floppy.  I knew she would not last long, she was in no pain so I did not call the vet out but we decided to take her the next day.

 We didn’t need to.  Although Tiffany fought it, her spirit eventually left her body.  We all (me, Scott, Obi, Jessie and Shadi 3 of the other cats) kept vigil, Shadi, Obi and Jessie all went up to her and licked her face, they were saying “goodbye.”  Tiffany went in her sleep with us all beside her.  I held her for hours after she had gone and finally we made her a ‘nest’ in a box with blankets and some Rose Quartz crystal and one of her toys.  The following day, after ‘lying in state’ over night (she died around midnight) we took her to our friends’ house and buried her in their hillside garden.  My friend said “What denomination is she?”  I said “She is a follower of the Goddess Bastet of Egypt.”  We liked that.  We played Pachelbel’s Cannon and drank tea in her memory.

Six months on we miss her a lot, we keep a box of memories of her, photos, toys, a lock of fur and a blanket she slept on.  We now have a brother and sister called Charlie and Amber who are about 1½ years old, also Rescue Cats.  They parade around the kitchen like Tiffany did and Charlie sits in the bath like she did.  We have six cats now, they come and go, I never look for cats, they just turn up.  

I wrote this on the 6 month anniversary of when Tiffany passed on.  Losing a pet, even an elderly one, is always sad.  I went to see her grave and chatted to her today (27.4.05).  She did not feel there, because she wasn’t under that ‘cairn’ of rock and soil, she was and is somewhere running free with the other free spirits, maybe in the streets of Leeds or the hills of Todmorden.

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