Almost two years ago, I received a very peculiar present: a black kitty that my uncle had rescued from the street. It seems as if the mother chose our family to take care of her litter. One day she showed up at my uncle’s garden and he began feeding her. She had her litter at his garden where her offspring had food, water and safety. Every once in a while, she would take them out for what we suppose were “street lessons.” My uncle quickly found a home for all but one.
I already had a cat at my mom’s and was eager to bring her home to my new apartment. I waited until I was settled so that the boxes wouldn’t be too traumatic for her. This cat had already gone through a lot. When I brought her home, Allora was not happy. She’d had a difficult life on the streets and did not accept the change. Neither did my sister’s cat. After a long weekend of worrying, I took Allora back to my mom’s.
My uncle quickly offered the black kitty he still had, and, longing for some company, I accepted her. I am not superstitious so having a black cat was no issue. After a nice bath and a check up from the vet, the black cat came home. I searched and searched for a name that would fit her, and surprisingly enough, I found it in a novel I had recently translated. The protagonist was feisty, strong, independent as I suspected this kitty was.
Mona and I had to adjust to each other. I wasn’t home very much and she was just a kitty. Our home quickly became Mona proof. She loved chewing on cables, crocs, straps, and strings. She would play all night and I learned to sleep with her noise around the house, and, eventually, with her as a headpiece on my pillow. She tried to walk on the windows and longed to explore the building. We became each other’s companion.
At some point while she was still a “kitty” and was too playful for words to describe, I wondered if I was the correct person for her. I didn’t have too much patience sometimes (which now I know was caused by other people and not really her), and her playing would sometimes keep me up (or I thought it was her that kept me up). Not wanting to abandon her, I decided to stick it out. She became known to everyone as a very feisty cat, never letting a guest go home without a scratch. I learned to appreciate her personality, while keeping her claws as short as possible.
When the time came to move to the Netherlands, Mona didn’t hesitate. We went to the vet, she got her shots and chip, and she began familiarizing herself with her new pet carrier. The day of the flight was one for the books; that restless cat I had became a peaceful and calm travel companion. Once in our new home, she quickly familiarized herself with the surroundings, enjoyed the garden, and, I suspect, started plotting ways to eat the fish in the pond. When we moved again, she did not complain. She stood by my side and always kept me company.
Two weeks ago, I thought I would loose her. She suddenly became sick and the vets did not know what was wrong. After four check ups, a crazy woman threatening via whatsapp, a concerned father and a video of what was happening to her, the doctor determined that she was getting seizures. The sudden nature of these attacks didn’t give us hope; Riccardo and I began talking about what would happen if the medicine didn’t work. I was distraught. Mona was having more than ten attacks a day and was too tired to do anything else. She wasn’t herself and I was too far to take care of her. Mona had always kept me company when I was sick and cuddled with me when I was sad. She never left my side when I needed her, and here she needed me and I was an ocean away. I couldn’t bear the thought of not holding her paw while she was sick.
A couple of days later Mona reminded us who she was: a fighter. That feisty cat that wouldn’t let me sleep or would attack me to play turned around and got better. Yes, she depends on medicine to be healthy, but she is fortunate enough to be with a family that can take care of her. Her mom chose a good home for her, and moms are never wrong.
I have been thinking what it would be like for Mona in another place. A black cat that has epilepsy would clearly call for a witch-hunt. Her feisty attitude would not help her case. Luckily for all of us, Mona has people that love her and see her illness for what it is. She is brave. She is strong. She has a big heart. She is not going down without a fight. I don’t understand how someone could think she brings bad luck when all she has given us is love.
So on this very special international cat day, I am thankful for the wonderful companion I have: a small furry creature that has forever changed our lives. Mona, I am thankful you are healthy and that you are keeping Riccardo company until I fly back home. You never cease to amaze me, and I am thankful I have you in my life. Keep fighting, Monita and may you have a long healthy life!
