The extra heartbeat in our home.

Have you ever found yourself looking at your cat or dog and thought “I’ve got an animal freely wandering around my house! How has this happened?” We do.

We have a cat. I worry about him and miss him when I am not with him.

I have grown up with animals. I have cine film footage of me sitting up but not yet old enough to walk, with a kitten chewing on the pompoms on my little slippers. You can see on the film that I have clearly had enough of the pesky little thing, and I grab at its bottom and tail, before my mum’s hand can be seen coming into shot rescuing the kitten. I don’t remember lots about my early childhood, but I do remember two pet dogs and a further cat. Those I do remember.

I brought a mouse I found home once, me and my sister kept snails overnight only to find them all over the kitchen. During this year or that, we had a hamster that we let run loose, and a rabbit I would compete with along with a Jack Russell, for the space closest to the gas fire. Two more rabbits, budgies, finches (they were noisy), and my dad had pigeons. But isn’t this the story within most families of the 70s and 80s, perhaps even now?

When I had a home of my own, I had cats – 4; some luckier than others, before I had children. Then the two hamsters (never again – I’d never have caged animals or birds now).

Since those days I have only had cats. Long after, I would wake in the middle of the night in a panic thinking that I had forgotten to feed a (caged) animal. Once I even dashed downstairs until my sensible inner voice smirked almost audibly “Go on then – where is this animal you think you are starving?” Such a responsibility.

My home has been home to many cats – some mine and some not. My next-door neighbour, friend, had a cat that did not understand human boundaries. He assumed my house was an extension of his and that my role was to step in when he thought my friend was reneging on her duties. He would come in through the cat flap (my two would look up then ignore him) and he would meow at the door to the stairs like he saw mine do, and I would get up and let him upstairs. Madness. When my friend moved, I lost touch with her for a year or so but when we found each other again I dropped in to visit her and my joy at seeing her cat was palpable. And I swear he felt the same judging by his running down the stairs at the sound of my voice. I shed tears that day at seeing him again.

My last two girl cats are now in urns on my bedroom window. Since my children are now in their 30s and have homes and cats or dogs of their own, when asked what I would rescue if the house was on fire, I always say my cats. My husband had asked that his ashes be scattered when he dies around Cadwell Park. I haven’t asked if that is legal or allowed. It doesn’t matter now because he has accepted that he, I, the two cats and our own beautiful strawberry blond boy cat, will be scattered together once the last of us goes. And it won’t be at Cadwell – the cats wouldn’t like it.

Animals have a heartbeat, and it is loud to me and to you too, I am sure.

When I am in a different room, I can feel that heartbeat in the house. When I come into the house, it is never empty. My cat will be in already or he will have heard me arrive and so will be dashing through the cat flap possibly for food, I don’t care why – his heartbeat and essence fills my house. And I love him very much.