The Cat Life: A Eulogy

In the June of 2010, during a FIFA world cup match, specifically the match between Argentina and South Korea, it was decided that  my sister and I would be FINALLY allowed to get a pair of kittens, I personally decided that my kittens named would be decided but this specific football match, so yeah, just in case you were confused on why I mentioned the FIFA world cup. I had decided that my kitten would be named after the star player of the winning team of that match I was watching, and so that is how my darling Messi, came to be named so.


If you are reading this, yes, this is meant to be a eulogy, and for those who knew him, they would know what a great cat he was, how beautiful and handsome, how dashing and devious and how he kept us sane in moments of madness.

Messi was always a survivor, the eldest of three in a family, his youngest brother Kida, went to kitty heaven first, he was the sickly sort, though he lived his life to the fullest, the little fur ball was forever a brat and I would call him the nawwa to Messi’s pissu pusa. Then there was the middle brother, Rocky,adopted by our cousin who lived next door, he was a scruffy one, he and Messi had adventures all over the neighbourhood, and I bet had all the pussycats yowling into the night, they were a team.

That is Rocky on the left and Messi on the right.

And soon they began to take over the neighbourhood, the local alley cats didn’t like that one bit, the handsome tiger striped brothers off to conquer the tiny neighbourhood that we lived in. There were weeks upon weeks of battle where yowling and cat fights were quite common and I occasionally ran into the alley cats trying to sneak into our house to booby trap the brothers, but that could never be. And like all wars it was not without casualties,  Rocky departed the good life after an unfortunate event, where I personally think it was a poisoning, there was no other way to bring these two down. Furthermore Rocky had been in a weakened state due to the weeks of fighting and inadequate food.

Alone he stood, My Messi, the lone king of the hill, his retaliation was deadly, he took the neighbourhood with an iron paw, he set down rebellions, he ran out the cats who didn’t bow to him, and he took what was rightfully his, for his brothers.

He was a magnificent beast, almost royal. Even though all this I still remember his quirks, he used to climb into bed with me early in the morning, sleeping right in the middle of the warm spot on my bed and forcibly moving me out of my own bed, he used to sit on top of our fridge early in the morning surveying the kitchen as if it was his viewing room while my mother cooked for the day, and the way he used to mess around with the mop while I was trying to clean the house. he also had fish brought separately for him as he was a very picky eater and I was very reluctant to eat anything else. He used to sit by my feet or inside my book cupboard while I finished my work on the laptop or did my homework. He also loved to eat buns, this was a quirk he developed when my grandma gave him a few pieces.

         
      

A couple of weeks ago Messi came home is a vey melancholic mood, he looked unwell and didn’t move as a healthy cat, if it was a leg injury I couldn’t have told you, all I can say was he was sick, and we never expected to not find him at the door the next morning, when we put him out at night as we always put the cats outside at night, and they usually run into the kitchen at dawn when my mother opens the front door. But Messi never came the next day, nor the day after that, and I haven’t seen him since that night, haven't felt his soft fur and pulled on his kitty years or squeezed him and called him my Pirate Pusa, my Don, my double-chinned mafia pusa. Maybe I am tad sentimental, maybe I’m supposed to feeling like this for a dog or a person but you see, I had a few rough times during those years and Messi’s adventures and his antics always managed to bring a smile to my lips. There were times I’d come home from a horrible day and find Messi sitting on the rug in front of the main door of the house, and I’d promptly lift him and hug him in spite of the scolding's from my mum, dad, grandmas or anyone else. Thank you friend for the short though wonderful years you gave our family, my pissu pusa.
I put off writing this specifically because I do not wish to think of him as departed, a tiny part of me imagines that he had gone adventuring far away and will comeback soon, so farewell my beautiful, evil creature and Auf Wiedersehen, should we meet in parts unknown I hope you will remember me.

Love you Komrade Cat,

Messi is survived my many of his off spring, but one in particular he has chosen to let into our house and our lives, a month or so before he left us, he brough a kitten, a girl, of more of less the same colouring from the big ears to the tip of the tail, her name, Cleopatra.  And of course he also leaves a grieving friend Chingy who was also a close confidant, and even though they were of different species, their friendship never diminished.