Walking Down Memory Lane (31-day writing challenge 7/31) (748/500)
There are days I really miss having a cat, or a dog or a rat or some kind of feline company.
I used to have a cat named Mikki. She was a very special one. But I suppose everybody feels like this about their pet friends.
Mikki was the result of a beautiful, long-haired Persian cat mama and a scruffy, short-haired street cat papa and this is the story of how she came to me.
One day, a school friend announced that their family was giving away three kittens and whether anybody was interested in adopting one. Of course, I was interested, but I knew I needed to ask my parents for permission first.
The next day, after getting the ok from my parents, I approached my friend: ‘Are you still giving away kittens?’ I asked.
‘Sure,’ my friend replied, ‘we’ve got a red tiger, a grey kitten and a white one with big black spots. Which one would you like?’
‘Oh, can I have the black and white one?’ I said without hesitation.
‘Sure! Shall I bring her to school tomorrow?’ my friend asked me.
The next day my mum came to school with me to pick up the cat. I still can remember how my friend and her mum approached us on the street right next to the school building with a paper bag.
As we reached them, they handed the paper bag to us. I looked into the bag and saw this cute and tiny white kitten with black markings on her head, a big black spot on her back like a saddle, and a black tail. In the bag were also three cat food cans, to give us a headstart with feeding her. Her eyes were so big and she meowed out of the bag. I was in love. It was love at first sight.
I’m not sure if I was able to focus on school lessons that day. Probably not. What I do remember, though, is that a long-term and very close friendship began on that very special day.
Mikki and I were so tuned into each other. She knew exactly what my mood was. And, if I was sad, she would always come to sit close.
Despite being an absolute sweetheart, she could also be a terrible grumpy pants. She would get totally annoyed when I would pick her up and carry her around.
Also, I could always read when she was up to no good:
Let’s say, she was not supposed in to go in the kitchen. When I would notice her sneaking past the door in direction kitchen out of the corner of my eye, I would just say: ‘Mikkiiiii!’ in a low but assertive voice. I knew she heard me as she would cough at me in protest. Then I would get up and point with my finger in the direction she came from without saying anything. Believe it or not, she would indeed turn around and head back to where she came from, but not without giving me another couple of coughs in protest. This ritual was often continued back and forth until one of us got tired. It was our little ‘how to outsmart the other’ game.
Mikki’s favourite place to sleep was under freshly made bedsheets. When I would notice a little lump in my bed, I would gently poke her. She would then make this cute cricket-like sound. Gee, I’m smiling widely as I write these few lines.
When I moved out of my parent’s home to go to university, I did not get to see her so much anymore. But on one occasion, my parents were gone for two weeks and brought Mikki to my apartment so I could look after her. Looking back, I am so grateful that I was able to spend this precious time with her, because, shortly after, she passed of old age. She was 16 years old.
Since then, I could never get myself to get another cat. No cat would be Mikki. Even today, I sometimes have dreams in which she appears. In my dreams, I am thinking to myself, ‘oh, Mikki is here! I must enjoy our time together before she leaves again.’ And I do. These are always feel good dreams. Mikki will always have a special place in my heart.