After
Piccolo and Skippie passed away earlier this year I didn’t think any furry
creature would ever stir my heart again. Our doggies of 16 years were my life.
Skippie’s death was a decision I took because she was suffering from cancer and she held on until it was cruel to let her carry on. Piccolo was a different
story. I knew she was old and frail but the heart attack on that Sunday morning
was so unexpected that I struggled to make peace with it.
And so
life has continued this half-a-year without furry friends. I often felt empty without these little
creatures that so depend on us. Garry and I have however decided ‘no more animals’ because of our difficult circumstances of living between two provinces that are so far apart. Yet, I now and again peeped at the animal shelter website, but I closed them before anyone could speak into my heart.
Then it
happened. When I came to Garry earlier this month, a black stray cat cried
underneath our window non-stop for almost 6 days and nights. It drove me mad and I eventually made my
viewpoint clear to him – "Either we feed this cat or it must go." I was straight forward and brutal.
I searched the internet and according to the many sites there are millions of stray cats around. Obviously the rescue agencies cannot deal with them all. They however recommend for people to act responsibly and before feeding them, to have them sterilized and inoculated. I posted a message on our development's whatsapp group whether this cat belonged to anyone. A lady who is hardly ever here as it is mostly holiday homes for those from Johannesburg, responded: She had the cat sterilized etc and it is being fed by her gardener. But she welcomed it if I would care for it while she was away. She has named him Mr Bojangles.
I
started feeding him and so it began… It is not about the food, although he loves his pellets and fresh milk; it is about the company. He wasn't going home. He decided to stay. He came closer. He started following me everywhere. He talks. 'The talking cat.' We started talking. I call him and he answers. We understand each other. He started coming into the house. He has made his home in our house and in our hearts. He looks like a black panther. Garry calls him Blackjack. I call
him Sweetheart. I brush him daily and he lies and rolls around from pure pleasure. His coat is beginning to look beautiful!
We have
one thing in common…both of us hate the thunder and lightning. We have formed a
pact about that aspect and today was one of those days. It rained softly
earlier on, but then it was thunder and lightning as it has been for the past
two weeks. In the middle of summer, it was a cool day, so the two of us ended up
lying curled up on the bed…
We have
a problem though. He ‘belongs’ to someone else. We therefore can’t just take
decisions concerning him. We also will not be here all the time. I am soon to
return to the Cape and what then? Garry works long hours. I argue that I didn’t ask for him. He asked for me. I say it all to exonerate my responsibility, but still we have a problem.
Cats are not like dogs, which you load into a basket and onto a plane into a different province and home and voila problem solved!
But, yes for the moment we don’t think about that.
That is a problem for another day… For the moment we enjoy each other's company. I have come to realise, we depend more on them than they on us. For them it is care, for us it is love.
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