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In March 2003, after two failed
attempts, our black-and-white cat finally made a successful bid for
freedom. We have never seen or heard of him since. When
considering living with another cat, we felt that our favourite
option would be a Siamese (we had lived with them before and always
missed that special relationship) We found the website and began
to make enquiries.
After a month or two, we heard of five
Siameses who had been bereaved of their owners, and were going to be
dispersed to different people as no-one could take on all five. At
first it didn’t sound as though any of them would be an option for
us (we wanted a single cat) and then the lady who was looking after
them, Jayne Adams, decided that we might be suitable for a red-point
boy, nervous but loving, who she thought might make it as an only
cat.To cut a long story short, we fell in love with the
photograph, then the cat, and went to collect him at the end of
June.
We brought him home. I kept my hand
on the basket all the way and was rewarded with some head-rubs and a
friendly paw through the grille, but when he saw the house, and the
dog, trauma set in, big-time. Thus began the saga of Merlin, the
magician who changed our lives.I left him to get to know the
downstairs rooms while I cooked. He disappeared and we searched the
house from top to bottom to no avail.In the morning, after very
little sleep, I printed out posters and ran round the town pasting
them – we were sure that we must have left something open, made some
mistake, and lost him. A weekend of worry, self-blame and urgent
phone calls followed. On Sunday night, when going up to bed, I saw
the cat on the stairs. He had never left the house.
Of course, he disappeared again
immediately. We searched every room in turn, over and over, and
could not think where he could be, until one night that week I woke
at midnight and saw him creeping out of my wardrobe. At the end of
the next day I had him in my arms, in the flesh, for the first time.The next stage was to put him in a room by
himself, visiting him regularly and trying to engage him in
conversation. This went on for a fortnight. At the end of the time
(much of which was spent with my head, shoulders and one arm under a
bed) he took his courage in all four paws one morning and decided to
give me his trust. When that was given, it was unconditional, and
that was his trademark – his courage and devotion became known to us
gradually, but it was always displayed in that one, definitive,
gesture of acceptance.The next stages, coming downstairs, going out
etc., took two months or so, but showed steady progress, as long as
he could relate only to me. For another 2 – 3 months, he would stay
out all day and come in only after 10pm, spend time only with me in
the outhouse, eat, accept love, sleep and then go again before we
were up in the morning. One momentous morning, he made another of
those firm decisions and stayed in with us. Then he began to accept
my husband, Tony, and later our daughters. The dog was never
accepted, but it was not a problem – he just ignored her.
By the end of the year we had the
loving, beautiful, irreplaceable cat we had wanted, and more so. He
had become my inseparable companion, especially at night, and would
take time away from me to make sure thathis ‘Dad’ didn’t feel left
out. During the evening he adorned our mantelpiece; during the day
he took his ornamental presence into the garden. He made himself
the heart of the house.
Merlin had never had much voice since
he had been with us, and in 2004 he began to have a distressing
cough, so we took him to our vet. He anaesthetised him and then
rang up to say that it was very bad news; there was cancer at the
back of Merlin’s tongue and he wanted to put him to sleep while he
was still under the anaesthetic.We said no.We wanted him home and
to be with him as long as possible. He had a steroid injection and
this gave him new life, the cough faded into the background and he
talked to us in a way that he had never been able to. The vet also
gave us his opinion that Merlin was really quite old and that any
time we had with him would be a bonus, cancer apart. Bonus it was.
With another steroid injection and plenty of natural healing, we
kept the cancer at bay for 6 months.
Last week we had to visit the vet
again.Merlin was finding it too much of an effort to eat, or even
drink much.It appeared that his kidneys were failing and the blood
test to try and determine this was so traumatic to him that he
seemed to be fading fast. For another three days he struggled on,
with typical courage, still showing us his love and trust up to the
inevitable end. On Thursday evening, April 21st, he was
only just able to sit beside me and put his head on my knee. Soon
he was too weak even for that and he died quietly in the night.
The two years we had with Merlin were
years we will never forget. Our relationship was worth all the worry
and perseverance of the first few months, and living with him was an
experience we would not have missed.Our house feels very empty
without him. With him very much in mind, we will, after a few weeks,
start searching for another Siamese who needs a home. I’m already
reading the website again. He or she won’t be Merlin – but will be
his or her beautiful self, and will hopefully make a relationship
with us that will bring us more challenges, and more rewards.
Many thanks to Jayne, who matched us
up perfectly with this wonderful companion, and to Pat Hadfield,
whose wise advice and support helped me to persevere. If you are
thinking of rehoming a Siamese, or having a rocky start, don’t give
up – hopefully your rewards will be as great as ours were.
Nancie |
