The Purrfect Home

photo credit:  https://www.philstar.com/nation/2016/02/02/1548979/posh-makati-village-raises-alarm-over-dead-cats

We are a family of cats.  Well, let me take that back.  We are a family that love animals, in general.  There was one point in our lives wherein we had 5 dogs, 6 cats, and more or less 50 pigeons all at the same time.  And our house was small, so you can say that it was like an Old McDonald Farm but without the farm of course, maybe just the barn, so it was a very full house-odor included.  In addition to that, we also took care of chickens and pigs, but they were housed at my grandma’s so it did not cramp our space.  Basically, you could say that we were the miniature of Noah’s Ark, except that we were more selective with the species we invited over.   

But I think, as a family, we have more amour to the feline group.  My mom would always say that cats were the Virgin Mary’s pet because she would always find our beloved cats sleeping under the big statue of Mary in our altar.  Well my theory was, cats liked it under the statue because they could hide from me and my other siblings and avoid being harassed by our overzealous interests in making them as our toy, when the only thing they would only want to do was sleep and just be cats- smart and lazy. 

I read from someone, and I think it was Jessica Zafra, that cats are the superior pets.  Well, I say superior, because she said that cats own you and not the other way around.  Which is true.  You always long for their affection and you feel this sense of affirmation once they acknowledge your presence by meowing once or by brushing their tail around your legs while your pooping at the toilet.  It’s like that master from the Babe movie, but instead, the cat is the master and she is saying “That’ll do human, that’ll do.”



We have a long lineage of cats.  But I think it all started when Junior was brought to our house by one of our helpers because that’s the way it worked: you either give the cat away or bring it to the cemetery to lose its way.  It breaks my heart to see cats in the dumpster or being run over on the highway.  I still say a prayer every time I see them splattered along the road and I try not to look too hard otherwise I get misty-eyed.  I remember one time when our helper decided to throw away one of our beloved cats because it was stinking up the house and it would mark her territory every 10 ft. or so.  My two other brothers and my sister were devastated with what happened so we hollered all day and tried all our best to call her name so she could find her way back home.   We assumed that she died eventually because we gave up on our search and rescue operations.  But a few months later, lo and behold, and to the horror of our helper, she found her way back home, all skinny and crunchy, but intact and meowing non-stop announcing her great return.  We were like God in the prodigal son story because our honorary daughter came back.  So we gave her a bath, which she despised so much, then we celebrated her return. 

Junior was the start of everything.  After Junior, we had tons more.  You know cats, they are the incestuous bunch- a son could be a father to a daughter, or a sister could be its cousin at the same time, and a mother could be the biggest bitch of the litter. 



Our love for cats were also closely intertwined with naming them.  If you were feline from our clan, you could have at least three names in your lifetime.  So the names would start cute at first, like Stephanie or something, but then it would revolve based on their personality or based on how our deaf grandma would hear its name pronounced or how a toddler would enunciate it.  So eventually, Stephanie became Tete-fan (I don’t even know if it was spelled that way) when she passed away. 



Then there was Mulan.  I named her such because I was obsessed with the animated movie back in the day.  She was an interesting cat because she happened to be a male- which I did not realize until one of the elders pointed it out to me, but I couldn’t care less since the real Mulan dressed as a man to save his father in the story.  But Mulan, the cat, was a walking guilt-trip for me.  One late night, I decided to drink water from the kitchen- which was somewhat semi-separated from the main house as it had a door with a lock on it.  However, the door-frame did not entirely match the actual door, maybe because of the how the tectonic plates moved from under our home, so you really need to slam it hard to match the locks together and secure it firmly.  Now in my defense, it was dark and I was half asleep.  But I am getting ahead of myself. 

I was on my way back to my bedroom from quenching my overnight dehydration so it was a routine door jamming activity for me to close the kitchen door, but for some reason, the door would not fully close and there was about a few inches between the frame and the door itself.  I jammed it maybe three or four more times to no avail while looking upwards (which was my usual posture) because the lock was located at the top.  It dawned on me to look towards the bottom of the door.  And to my horror, Mulan was stuck between the door and the door frame, trying to meow her ass off and save herself from my unapologetic door jamming but she could not force out a sound probably because of asphyxiation. 

I was so mortified and I panicked.  It broke my heart to see her in that state.  But just so you all know, she did not die.  To the best of my capabilities, I diagnosed her at that instant with spinal cord injury, and due to shock, it was the complete type spinal cord injury (ASIA A, for those in the medical field), meaning fully paralyzed without any muscle strength from her waist down. 

For a few days, she was dragging her lower limbs along the floor with traces of pee as she glided on the floor.  And my guilt was gliding along with it.  I actually wanted her to die at that instant because I felt so horrible at her state, I know it was very selfish of me, but that was how I felt.  I wanted to jam my head into that door as well so I could have felt what she did.  But fast forward a few months later, I might have misdiagnosed her because she was up and about walking without any deficit except for random bouts of peeing anywhere she wanted without assuming the typical cat posture when it emptied its bladder.  That was when I realized that I could not get any of her affection whatsoever even though I was the one who baptized her.  Cats hold grudges, I guess- and Mulan was really unforgiving because she would pee on my leg from time to time to announce her presence or to get back at me, without me realizing it until it’s too late- a warm flow of water gushing down along my limbs.  I could not get upset because It was my fault why she was that way. 



We also had this situation wherein we decided to de-worm all our cats because we were afraid that there were bugs in their system.  Of course, being in the Philippines, vets would be a luxury.  A local vet would be somewhat equivalent to a storeowner who sells poultry products, chicken feeds and medicine for animals without requiring a prescription. And my mom was one of them.  We owned an agricultural and poultry supply store, so at one point she was the quack doctor of the town for the local pigs, chicken, roosters, and cows, and she was good at it.  But not during the time when we dewormed our cats. 

We gave them a full dose of medicine suited for an adult pig.  We just realized how wrong was our decision when, one by one, our poor felines started having seizures- running all over the place with fur sticking out of their bodies, crying and tremoring all at the same time.  We had to chase them and give them antidotes equivalent of a Mary Poppins recommended remedy- a spoonful of sugar, which actually worked.  The seizure lasted only for a few seconds after dousing them with instant diabetes.  Fortunately, there were no residual deficits or any other seizures that followed after that. Mortality rate was zero.  Worms were eradicated, down to the larvae (and maybe all the way into our pet’s pancreas after that ill-fated incident).  We just learned our lesson that day about pharmacy and following the correct dose. 



You may think that we are a bunch of horrible cat-people but I beg to differ.  These are isolated cases in our home, but most of the time, we have fond memories of our pets.  In fact, Mahzing (one of my favorite cats) insisted on giving birth at my side in the middle of the night because she likes my armpit so much, even if we allocated a birthing box for her.  So I witnessed a full live birth of kittens in horror and awe. 



I have rescued a cat secretly when I was in college and fed it for a year outside my boarding home.  It waited for me almost everyday after coming home from class or from ROTC training.  I would secretly feed it with what food I have for the day and when I would chance upon him when there was a rainstorm, I would shelter it inside our home, without the knowledge of my housemates.  That was tricky but I was able to sneak him in one corner of our house without them knowing.  Good thing he was very quiet so no one knew about him. The only time he would meow was when he would say hi during our first encounter of the day.  But one day, he suddenly stopped waiting for me, I wanted to believe that he just found a better friend by taking him wholeheartedly without the fear of being caught by his housemates.  Or he might have found a family that was willing to take him inside, anytime of the day and at any under weather condition- rain or shine. 



I have not had any pets since moving across the globe.  I have wanted so bad to adopt a feline but I have so many hesitations- like the smell they would spread all over my house, or the fur they will leave all over the couch, or their habit of clawing all the furniture.  But then again, I remember when we were kids when these trivial things did not bother us because it was part of the joy of having a cat- coping with their most annoying habits and accepting them from what they are-smart and lazy. 

Maybe I am not ready to have a cat because instead of having a “no matter what” frame of mind, I am more of a “but” person- always finding a reason or an excuse not to commit to it.  Then Mulan starts haunting me with her paralytic gait, so does the other cats who were confused as to what their real names were, and finally my unnamed cat from college- who was just waiting for a home, and I could not commit, so I just provided him a temporary shelter without promise of a future. 

One day, after all these years I will meet him again.  Or maybe a new one will find it’s way home into mine after being thrown out for being not welcome because of the way he smells or how snobby she is.  She will, one day, come home to me.  And I promise to take care of him. 

June 4, 2020