Hmmm? Isn't it? Banana?

Misplacing a feline

I happened across this picture today, and it reminded me of something. I thought I would share it:

A friend of my parents lost her cat. Her husband is a Doctor, and they have this huge old Georgian house in a small village (I think it may have once been a vicarage). Great big place it is, with about 7 bedrooms and a lovely, tree lined garden. I'm not sure if any of that (apart from the mention of the cat) was at all relevant, but it's a nice image, isn't it?

Anyway, the cat went missing. It continued to be, er, missing. And so it went on, this missing lark. No sign or sound of the cat, and the friend was going frantic with worry. Just a whole fat load of 'missing'. This went on for just over a week. She had looked everywhere for the cat - been all around the village, looking in bushes, up trees, in ditches (fearing the worst by this point) and calling its name at regular intervals. The usual 'lost cat' drill, basically.

I realise that this would be a perfect time to 'drop' the name of the cat into the story, but I have no idea what it was, as this was a long time ago and I have destroyed my memory through substance abuse. 'Years' seems to be the substance in question that is getting to it. Being alive longer seems to screw my ability to remember details. I swear if I get much older, I won't be able to remember last week. Or, at least, the week preceding the point that I am at that stage, if you know what I mean. I haven't a hope of remembering last week by then. No chance. Anyway, you get the point. Or maybe you don't, I'm not sure I recall what it was now.

Moving on. The cat was missing. (I didn't remember that, I had to read back over the post so far.)

So, over a week after the cat has gone missing, one morning the friend happened to be alone in the house and she woke up at 6 am with a start. Literally shocked her wide awake out of her sleep. Total clarity of thought drove her to jump up, throw her dressing gown on and run up to the little used attic storage room. She dragged a massive oak wardrobe full of clothes and crap out of the way (too heavy for her to move back afterward without help) so she could get to and rip off the board that had been nailed up to block the chimney place up with just her bare hands. There, covered in soot and very weak with hunger but otherwise unharmed, was the cat. It had been (presumably) chasing birds on the roof and had (definitely) fallen down the chimney. It can't have been many days before it would have just died quietly there, poor thing. After a brief period of nursing and a visit to the vets, the cat made a complete recovery. It also stayed off the roof.

The discovery and how it came about was a source of much subsequent discussion. The friend commented how weird it was - she just woke up and knew exactly where the cat was. Utterly and totally clearly knew, no doubt in her mind. Freaky, huh? She also knew that she had to get it out right then, no delay, which was what drove her to rip the house apart to get to it. I assume there must be some sort of subconscious element there, but I thought it was amazing.

Aw. Bless. A happy ending, see? Not only that, but as a postscript, I should mention that we had one of the kittens from her next litter (the cat, rather than the friend) a few years later. She was called Katie - I remember that one - and she stayed with us for years. I think she was 12 when she died. She was a bit mental, but very lovely and affectionate.

Ho hum. I think that anecdote should probably end there.

posted by Brock @ Wednesday, March 22, 2006