ary snyder

It was raining cats and dogs. I guess that’s why that day I found a three-week old ginger cat. He was tiny, trembling and in the middle of the road. I almost ran him over. I’d always been a dog-person but I love animals, so stopping was only natural to me. He was obviously a stray and I couldn’t find his mother.

I didn’t plan to keep him. But he chose me and won my heart in an hour. And we lived happily together for 17 years and eight months.

He died last March.

And I can’t get over it.

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How could I? He was with me when I bought my first new car, my first and only flat (which I’ve since sold at a huge loss and now I don’t own anything), met Crusli —the person I’m still in love with after almost 16 years— , completed five ideas for new magazines and one was produced by the company I now work for, completed three novels —none published—, started another three —still working on them— and the project of a series of books for kids to care for the Earth —and all three books have been printed—. He was with me when Crusli and I moved in together, when I won a short-story contest and during four of my photographic exhibitions.

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I try to find ways —words— to remark how amazing Macavity was and I come up short. No matter how I start, I don’t want anyone who reads this to stop doing so out of boredom, without grasping why he was so marvelous a cat.

He could count up to three. Really. Whenever he felt like it, before I left for work, he’d come downstairs, got on the table and ask for treats —just like  the dogs—. But I had to give him exactly three while they only got one each. Not more and no less. If I messed the number, he’d get upset, turn around and walk away. I guess that as he was going upstairs he was thinking: “I can’t believe that after all these years she hasn’t learned how to count to three!”.

Perhaps you believe I’m making this up or missinterpreted his actions. But plenty of times I gave him two or four or five treats on purpose just to test him, and all those time I got the same reaction: he’d look at me, turn and walk away. They had to be three.

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He also knew how to fetch. I’d throw him a rubber band and he’d bring it back. And he knew I’d arrived from work maybe even before the dogs did. He’d be waiting on the table and he’d go belly up so I’d scratch his tummy the moment he saw me walk in.

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I named him Macavity after T.S. Elliot’s poems because he was a ginger cat, but he didn’t have anything else in common with the literary Macavity. I often called him Mac.

My friends say I’d raised him as a dog because I’d never had a cat before, and that’s why he was so dog-like. I’m not so sure he’d agree, but…

…he loved sleeping with his head on my pillow, between Crusli and me, or with me hugging him…

…he’d start kissing me the moment he heard my alarm clock go off —I’m sure he knew how difficult it is for me to get out of bed…

…he adored being petted and hugged and kissed, and no time was ever enough. He never, not once, had enough —as they say cats do—…

…he had a sense for when Crusli and I were going to get intimate and he’d leave the bed to us. But he came back the moment the last moan was moaned and the last whisper whispered…

…he hated leaving the house. If we take him out for a little sunshine he’d scream as if we were slowly killing him with a sharp knife…

…he’d get excited when hummingbirds came to their feeder, outside the dinning room window, but even when they flew inside the house, he never made any attempt to catch them. Not even once…

…he’d catch moths, though.

He knew when I was sad and he always came to kiss me, and got to make me smile…

…he’d always talk to me. As long as I asked questions, he’d always reply. I once did it for 50 minutes straight. I tired before he did. So we had long conversations about my day, politics, philosophy, art, the dogs, his dreams, his day, quantum mechanics, music or films, both in the mornings and at night…

…he never paid attention to the telly except for “Meerkat Mannor”. He’d sit through the hole 30 minutes of the show paying close attention to it, except during commercial brakes. We even called it “Macavity’s show” or “Macavity’s TV time”…

…When he was less than a year old, he had a small toy fish. It was fluffy. He’d put him on the pillow under the blankets, as if the fish was cold, and sometimes he also put him on his food bowl. He never put him on his water bowl. I guess he thought that being his, the fish wouldn’t want like to be in the water either. He had that fish for maybe eight years. One day it got lost. He never liked another toy that much…

…He looooooved the Sun. The Sun comes into our cabbin only for brief periods a day, but he always knew when and he’d go catch it…

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…he’d wait for the dogs to finish eating at night and then ran past them to climb up the table. They’d try to catch him and couldn’t. He looked at them as if thinking “what a bunch of mentally retarded overgrown cats!”. They did catch him twice —once it was Sam and once Tatu—. Both times he came upstaires with a fece of absolute disgust because they’d kiss him and kiss him, so he was licked all over…

…he liked sleeping on my left arm better than on my right arm, and if he were here, his head would be on my shoulder, with his body within mine and my left arm…

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…he looooved money, or rather, he loved it when we threw a bunch of bills on the bed and he’d mess them all, almost skating on them until all had fallen to the floor…

…and he also love black olives. He’d go nuts and lie on top of them, and toss them around, and try to get their scent on him, and bite them but he never ate even a tiny bit of them…

…he was a very well-read cat. Over the years we shared together, he read almost all the books I read with me…

…he liked kissing me on the nose or on the chin. But he liked kissing Crusli on her eyebrows or forehead. She used to say he was giving her a exfoliation treatment…

…he’d fall asleep with Crusli but wake up with me…

…he’d kiss her at night, but not in the morning…

…he wouldn’t talk to us if we went away for the weekend or a holiday. No matter how much we tried to make him kiss us, petted him, talked to him or called him, he wouldn’t reply and always turned his head. Eventually he’d bite us —lightly—, run away, and after about half an hour he’d come back and forgave us. Every time…

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…he knew when I was about to travel (I have to, because of my job) and he’d always try to get whatever I was putting in my suitcase out…

…Crusli was always completely amazed and perplexed at how well I understood him. It was as if he had a rudimentary language. I could tell —and I was never wrong because he was very clear and his miaous were very different— when he had little water in his water bowl, when he had little food in his food bowl, when he had no food at all, when Crusli had came home but hadn’t gone upstairs to say hi to him, when she had gone upstairs but hadn’t paid him much attention (his complaint was different), when she’d left one of the dogs in the house (during the past three years, he didn’t like this), when he wanted to play… He could vocalize a lot and I understood. I knew what he was saying.

…he wasn’t jelous of the dogs but he couldn’t stand my programable Wall-E. The second time I played with him he got very angry, came upstairs and peed in my gym bag. I never played with Wall-E after that. And I haven’t still. I respect Mac’s wishes too much for that.

…he saved my life countless times. Every time I thought I’d built a wall around me so tall and thick I couldn’t feel anything for anyone, all I had to do was to think of him to know that yes, I could love because I loved him so…

…he shared every moment of his life with me, and then also with Crusli, and he enriched our lives in so many different ways I can’t bear his not being here anymore…

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…he won my heart the day after I found him. I’d forgotten he was in my flat and got the paper and coffee and was lying on the sofa reading it when he climbed up, lay on my tummy and fell fast asleep, breathing in sync with me. After a while I was dying to go to the restroom but for an hour I didn’t dare move because I didn’t want to wake him up. He looked so adorable! And it was so evident to me he’d given me all his trust. After that, I never thought of finding him a home with a cat-person. I was his person and he was my cat. We belonged to each other. And we still do, because much of my heart is with him and he’s always in my mind, and I am my mind…

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…I’m sure that ever since he was little, he recognized the beat of my heart. That’s why he liked my left side better and that’s why our breathing was always in tune when we were falling asleep…

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…About five years ago he lost 75% of his kidneys. The vet told us he’d live only a few months, maybe. He felt so sick he stopped talking completely, no matter how hard I tried. So I stopped talking too. I stopped seeing my friends, I stopped going out, I stopped doing many of the things I did, I wanted to die with him. Maybe that’s why he didn’t die. Eventually he started talking to me again and I started talking to people again, and perhaps he only died now because he thought I could handle it, and I don’t want to let him down…

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I treassure every moment spent with him, every memory of him, every image of him, every photo of him, every hair of his I still find on my clothes, every mark he left, every toy he had and when it’s cold and I watch TV, I cover myself using his Wall-E blanket.

But most of all, I treassure that such an incredible, loving and amazing being came into my life, touched it, changed it, made me happy and shared his life with mine.

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The photo above is the last one I took of him. He’s holding his toy cat —which he never liked as much as his fish.

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I will always love you, Macavity. And thank you for sharing your life with me.