My Irish Cat

There was this one very lovely young cat which stayed with us at one point. It had a snow white coat and the bluest eyes you ever saw (even bluer than some Siamese cats) so much so I called it my Irish Cat. With such a coat and eyes of that colour, what else could I call it?

Unfortunately, Irish Cat was a disabled cat (yes, we had a three-legged cat and we had a disabled cat too but not at the same time. And currently, we have a half-blind young cat at home).

According to Mummy, Irish Cat was hit by some older male cats when she was still a kitten and as a result, she somehow lost the use of her hind legs. To move around, she would scrape the ground with her forelegs and dragged her body to move forward.

To keep Irish Cat safe, we placed her in a little hut, which was built on stilts. There were nettings in front of the hut for ventilation and for Irish Cat to get a glimpse of the outside world. We kept her locked in there most of the time because we dared not risk her getting hurt again. Besides, it could not move fast enough if attacked. Whenever we approached the hut to feed Irish Cat or just to say hello, she would sidle over to the front and greet us excitedly and enthusiastically. I suspect she was hungry for company and crave for attention. I tried to visit Irish Cat whenever I could.

As if her disability was not enough to hinder her movements, Irish Cat also had a scar/wound which bled occasionally throughout her life. Mummy would apply some sea cucumber ointment on her scars and Irish Cat endured this bravely. It must be so painful for her, poor little kitty. Sometimes I’d apply the ointment on her wound myself too and each time, I’d try to smile and talk cheerfully to her although it must have hurt her big time and I felt like crying myself. But Irish Cat was also a quiet and brave cat who never meowed her pleasure or howled out her pain. She just took everything in her stride and endured her pain with quiet acceptance and dignity. I still wonder if Irish Cat kept her pain to herself because she was afraid we would drive her out (which we wouldn’t of course).

There were times when the hut door became unlocked or not closed properly, enabling Irish Cat to push against the door and fall down on the ground. I suspected she didn’t mind the pain of the thud or the fall for at least she was free to roam the grounds within her limited ability. She looked happy and excited enough to explore the larger world beyond her little enclosure the few times she was out. But we would quickly put her back in the hut, apologetic in our act, conscious that we were cutting short her rare times out in the sun but mindful that she was vulnerable to attacks and/or infections on her perpetually unhealed wound.

Sadly though, Irish Cat didn’t live long.

I like to think that Irish Cat is now happily in cat heaven, running around on four perfectly good legs and that she doesn’t bleed anymore. That she doesn’t hurt anymore. That she has found her voice and now meows happily as she stalks her new territory. Somehow that’s important to me. And occasionally when I think of her, I’d start crying (as I am, typing this post). Because Irish Cat, despite – and maybe because of – her disability, occupies a special place in my heart always.

I hope that one day, I’ll meet her again. Perhaps I won’t recognise her again, especially if she now has the use of all her legs. But I don’t even meet her in my dreams, not yet anyway.

And so I thought it is fitting to write about my Irish Cat on this St Patrick’s Day even though I’m not a Catholic or Irish or celebrate St Paddy’s.

Sometimes when you least expect it, you make an impact on someone else’s life. And sometimes, a presence of something unexpected can have an impact in your life. Even if it’s a small disabled cat as in my case.

Rest in peace, my beautiful Irish Cat.

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I dreamt of Tommy last night. I don’t know why when I hardly ever think of him anymore. Yet he still appears in my dreams occasionally. And for some reason, I hope he still dreams of me too. I hope I still haunt his dreams and occupy his waking thoughts.