Jocelyne Rigal

"Can we get another cat?" David, her eldest son, started to ask. 

His mother was not too keen on getting another feline. She silently remembered how over one year ago, David had literally forced her to adopt a kitten born to a neighbouring family. The boy had walked over to their house holding a basket to collect his pet. To such determination, there was not much she could oppose. She had felt too overwhelmed to say, or do, anything about it. She just had been attacked in her house, and was in prey of the greatest sorrow of her life. Looking at the small, cute, kitten all she could see was the additional restrictions this pet represented. She felt alienated, as the cat kept her awake at night, strange noises reminding her of possible intruders. Besides, she had never owned a cat before. She knew about potty training, not about litter training. She would not show her resentment to her children though. After the first hour of excitement, they had simply left the house to resume their outdoor games. Their mother had remained sat on one of their beds, looking at the small animal with tears coming to her eyes. 
A few months later, this cat was killed by a car right in front of their house. She could remember David's tears as he caught sight of the black and white body that laid on the road when he got out of the car. His mother had felt sorry for him. The night before, the nine year-old had gone to sleep holding one of his cat's paws, as he usually did. 
Months after, she still did not want to be bugged down with the extra responsibilities, with the extra work. She knew she would be left with having to feed the animal, empty and clean the litter tray. And what would they do with an animal if they were all gone away, as last summer? Finally, she was only too aware of the implications of their living on a busy short cut for the feline kind. 
The usual reasons for not having a cat, or a dog. She tried to explain them to her children, but they both remained unconvinced. In spite of her reluctance, she started to give in to the pressure. One afternoon after school, David informed his mother that they could adopt a cat from the ISPCA. He volunteered to pay the £ 10 fee from his own savings. He went to get the phone book and started to look for the number of the ISPCA. At loss, he had to ask his mother for help. 
"Why don't you talk to them?" David asked, sensing that adults do not take children's enquiries too seriously. She then dailed the number of the head office of the ISPCA in Rathmines. 
"We're thinking of adopting a kitty cat," she explained over the phone. 
She was told to go to the refuge in Rathfarnham, and given vague directions to get there. 
The following Saturday afternoon, after yet more pleas, she was driving to Rathfarnham with two excited children. Once again, she felt she was given no choice. And she resented it. 
"These children get anything from me," she thought silently. She had been determined not to raise her own children the same way she had been raised, adult centred, with no space left for her childish whims. But she sensed there was to be a balance between that rigidity and her own laxity regarding child raising. Yet she had failed to achieve it. But her resentment eventually materialised. In spite of her good will, she would get angry at her children when under pressure. When she got lost in Rathfarnham, she got cross at David who tried to help her find her way. 
After their long and tentative search in the outskirts of Dublin, they eventually reached the refuge. A chain barred the lane to get in. It was closed on Saturdays. Driving back home, she secretly hoped that her children would forget about this particular venture. 
      But she was naive, for children, unlike adults, let their dreams take over their lives. The following Tuesday, David started to besiege his mother with additional pleas for a trip to the Rathfarnham refuge. They both got inside the car. That time, locating the refuge was easy. They drove down that little mucky lane, and reached a yard overcrowded with poultry. She parked the car carefully, and walked into the office with David. 
   "We're interested in seeing your kittens," the mother explained to the employees. 
  "Cats do not give birth in the winter, so we don't have any kittens at the moment," one of them replied. 
   Mother and child looked at each other. The mother secretly hoped her child would give up on his cat search. But she should have known better, for that boy did not know what give up meant. 
   "Can we see your normal cats?" David asked with assurance. 
   "That depends on what you call normal," the employee replied, looking more of the country than of the city kind. 
   The employee grabbed a bunch of keys and gruffly got up. David and his mother followed her outside. They walked past a small empty shed, and found themselves facing a few cages, each sheltering several cats. The signs "Males" and "Females" featured prominently on the cages. Mother and child looked through the bars. In the males' cage, a black and white cat had climbed all his way up as soon as he had seen the visitors. Looking straight at David's mother with his green eyes, that cat was going miaow relentlessly. 
"Do you have any tabbies?" David asked, knowing what he wanted, definitely. 
The employee opened the females' cage, and grabbed a grey tabby. That cat looked nice, as did the others. But that animal looked dull. In the meantime, the black and white cat had kept on miawing, holding himself up on the bars with his claws. He also kept on looking at David's mother, who found it impossible to ignore him. His endless miaows filled in the gaps between the bouts of human conversation. David's mother asked to see that cat, and the employee opened his cage. The feline came out, and the mother picked him up. The minute she held him, his constant miaows converted to an endless puur. Spontaneously, she started to kiss him, and she felt how soft his fur was. She knew then and there that they were going to take this cat back home. 
"Want to hold him?" she asked David, turning to him. The boy took the cat, and his mother smiled when she saw her son holding that ball of fur with contrasting colours. His purring would not stop. 
"I think I'm falling in love with this cat," she said after a few seconds, "should we take him?" she asked David. 
"Sure, he's a nice cat," the boy replied, still holding the cat. 
David looked at the employee. 
"You know, my mother was not sure about getting a new cat," he explained. 
They went back to the office, where the cat was given a final check-up. 
"He's not even fully grown yet," the mother said, looking at the animal closely as he stood on the examination table. 
"Oh, he's only about four month-old," the employee replied. 
Surely a pre-teen, in David's terms, his mother thought, sensing that the animal could do with larger portions of food. The mother was given a few forms. 
"Starter tips for your new cat," one of them said. 
"Would you believe that cats and dogs are used to check mine fields?" David asked to the employee, as his mother was given a consent form to sign. 
"Oh, I would believe anything," the woman replied. 
"I declare that the animal I am adopting is not to be used for experimentation," the consent form stated. 
"Some people do some very strange things," the mother told her son as she signed the consent form. She reached for the cat, and gave him another pet. 
David, his mother and their cat left the office. David was holding the furry, purring, ball. Two women who had just arrived in the yard broke into a smile as they saw the boy holding his cat, both beaming with joy and tenderness. Back home, David introduced the new cat to his younger brother. Each boy called their friends to tell them of the new addition, and children poured into the house to have a look at the new cat. The animal showed a boundless patience, and confirmed his very affectionate personality. That night, David fell asleep with one arm hugging the almost round shape that had curled up right next to him. 
In the first days that followed the welcome long haired addition to their family life, the mother and her sons noticed that their new cat kept on chewing their clothes, eyes closed, still purring, obviously in want of close physical contact. Holding that black and white fur ball, who had resumed this usual behaviour with humans, she could not refrain from thinking that this behaviour could only stem from a lack of care, of company, and maybe too, from a disturbed early relationship with mummy cat. After all, this offspring had ended up in a refuge. 
"Maybe I should train as a psychotherapist for cats," she thought for herself, "tell me about your kittenhood," she would ask sternly, holding a note pad. 
She was the one who felt a new sense of peace within herself. She got a job she liked. She reconciled with an estranged Significant Other, and let go of another. She forgave them both, and wished them well. She would think of them with affection and gratitude. She met another Twin, a Writer like herself, who told her she was pretty and strange, but also pretty strange. 
Her cat played a central part in her new life. His long fur became a constant reminder of life's little softnesses. His presence meant comfort, as he would curl up on her bed at night, his purring a sign of affection. He would sleep, stretch and play his way through the days. He would search for his owners, greet them by rubbing himself against their legs when they came back home. He would keep them company, and show them affection and gratitude. Her children would arrive from school, calling their pet first and foremost. They all shared his care, and the cat's fur grew fuller and softer, as he quickly gained weight. To her, this cat secretly meant a renewed trust in life. 
     Her children called the cat Felix. In Latin, his name simply means 'happy'.