In the images of refugees from Ukraine, we occasionally catch glimpses of distressed cats and dogs. Their heads stick wildly out of coats and bags that are not designed for that. One cat, a hefty tabby, sat in her mistress’ arms as she looked at the slain bodies of her husband and brother.
It’s moments like these that inevitably remind me of my own cat, a British Shorthair of almost three years old that we got at the end of last year. I haven’t written about her before because I didn’t quite know what to think of her. One thing I now know for sure: she would not survive the conditions in Ukraine for a day.
Her name is Anna, a name that is a bit too fancy for a cat, which we have adopted for practical reasons from the cattery where we bought her. She had had two litters, a third was not desirable, because she distanced herself too quickly from her kittens; she had better leave for a new owner, in this case to us.
Taking distance turned out to be part of her character. When we let her out of the basket after the car trip, she crawled behind every desk and closet she could find—as long as she wasn’t visible. She ended up in the wardrobe in the bedroom where she hid for three days, not accepting the food and water we kept offering her.
My wife and I looked at each other and thought exactly the same, which is always a bonus in the marital context: this can’t go on like this. I already had visions of a sad journey back to the cattery. Nevertheless, we decided to give her a fair chance, because how would we have reacted ourselves if, in the prime of our lives, we had suddenly been transferred from a cozy home with many congeners to the quiet home of an older couple?
Most cats could handle that well, we knew from experience, but Anna didn’t happen to be. Was she less so? So we proceeded very cautiously: put food down at set times, don’t try to pat, avoid unexpected movements. Anna watched it from afar reservedly, but not unwillingly – nice that such old people want to show themselves off for you.
It took weeks before we got closer to each other step by step. She even let herself be petted casually, provided there was enough arm’s length between us, and she could also show some appreciation for a simple ball game. But otherwise: hands at home please! So no combing and no tinkering at shots, let alone unexpected attempts to pick her up. Please tell me, what woman would want that?
Thus, almost unnoticed, a good relationship grew between us: we respected each other’s weaknesses and decided to live with them. Back to the cattery? We didn’t have to think about it anymore. As a parent, you didn’t just send a difficult child to a home, did you?
Moreover, at night Anna shows a completely different side of herself. Then she unabashedly enters the matrimonial bed in the dark, throws herself on her side, allows herself to be touched almost indecently and finally collapses happily between us.
The next day she pretends that nothing happened and plays the worthy lady again. We like to leave her in that delusion.
A version of this article also appeared in NRC on the morning of April 6, 2022