My Mischief was not any old cat. Her conception was carefully planned. Shakira (her mother – also on this site) gave a special call and Mr M (my cat’s father, a pedigreed Siamese) answered. Mr M lived far down the hill, many houses away, but he came and courted Shakira.
I have photographs of her playing coyly on the driveway while he watched from under the parked car’s wheels. The outcome of their love affair was six darling kits – three exactly like Shakira, three exactly like Mr M. I went to meet Mr M’s human family and introduced myself and they came to see his kits and adopted two of them.
We kept two “Mini-Me” (also in Tributes) and Mischief (named after Mr M). I thought she was a boy until she fell pregnant. She made Siamese noises from an early age. I loved her to death. Twice she shared her kits with Mini-Me. Once because her sister’s kits were born deformed and had to be euthanized – and the second time because her sister was ill. That time, we had every conceivable kitty-teat from the vet, but struggled to feed Mini-Me’s kits – Mischief on seeing us struggling – simply leaped up from her basket and removed her sister’s kits from us one by one as if to say “Clearly, you don’t know what you are doing – leave this up to me, I’m the expert around here”. And so, she saved both the kits and her sister and later they shared one another’s kits. We couldn’t keep more than two cats, so when they tired of their babies, they went to other homes. The sisters were spayed and we imagined, they would retire to a cozy, sedentary life in our lovely new home. But fate stepped in. One by one our precious cats disappeared.
Shakira went first.
Much later, Mini-Me – I think an owl took her. Mischief must have witnessed what happened to her sister for her viewpoint on the window sill, as afterwards she became afraid – very afraid – to venture outside and began to wet our beds – the vet confirmed there was nothing wrong with her but she was very scared. I did not think anything would ever happen to Mischief – after all her Siamese skills had kept her alive and safe for so long. It has taken me a very, very long time to accept that she is not coming home. I have only just stopped putting out milk for her in the kitchen. Sometimes at night, I think I hear her and run excitedly to the kitchen like a child, imaging against all imagination and hope that she will be there saying hello in her Siamese way, talking to me in her Siamese talk as only a Siamese cat can do. But the kitchen is painful in its emptiness.
I don’t think I will ever get over the loss of this, my last cat, my most beloved cat, my special Mischief. We live in such a wild area, I do not dare get another pet – someone even lost a beloved dog in the area the other day and not a small one either. So this then is my farewell to Mischief. Goodbye my wonderful, soft and cuddly furry little friend. I will never forget your voice, your purr or the way you smiled at me with your eyes and pawed at the bedding with pleasure when I stroked you.
There are marks made on my wooden cabinet where you shook your whiskers after having a saucer of milk – I don’t have the courage to wipe them away. Mischief, I will miss you for the rest of my life. You cannot be replaced.