Illustration by Raz Latif
I was startled when a loud noise in my apartment woke me in the middle of the night. I rushed to turn on my bedroom light and discovered it was a cat and her loud meow that roused me.
Here’s the thing, I do not have a cat. And this was not the first time this particular cat had demanded my attention.
I immediately calmed down and realized my error – I had left a window open. (Thankfully it was a cat and not a raccoon that had entered my bedroom.) Despite a strong desire to return to bed, I proceeded to entertain my house guest by giving her some treats and scratches under her collar. It was the least I could do for someone who had given me so much.
If you ever spend much time on social media, you may have heard of the term #notmycat. Using this hashtag, people post photos of cats that they have befriended but that do not belong to them. The cat at the foot of my bed was that kind of cat.
Like so many others during the pandemic, I shifted from working in an office to working from home. Living alone can be isolating at the best of times, but not being able to see my friends or family would, once in a while, push me to the brink. There is only so much connection one can make with a fellow grocery shopper who is two metres away from you. It was around the one-month mark of the lockdown when I heard a meow outside the window of my ground-floor apartment. Sitting outside on the grass was a long-haired golden-coloured cat. I opened the window, and this beautiful cat effortlessly jumped into my home.
If there is one thing I have learned about cats, it’s that it is best to just give them some space. So as my new friend explored my home, I discovered I had some treats that I had intended to give as a gift to my friend for her cat. My new friend gobbled them up. She was then back out my window. That short visit brightened my day. I even snapped a few pictures and shared them with friends and family. (Everyone loves cat pictures; the internet was practically built on them.)
A few days later, I heard a meow I recognized. I quickly opened the window and let in my new best friend. Any concerns this cat might be a stray were dashed when I saw a name tag on her collar – Mika. On this second visit, I also noticed Mika was cross-eyed, which only made her more adorable.
Over the next few weeks, Mika would stop by sporadically, and in a great deal of my communication with friends and family they asked for reports on her visits. Sometimes she stayed only a couple of minutes; other times she would wander around my apartment for much longer. Each visit brightened my otherwise repetitive, isolated experience. Mika even helped me connect with some new neighbours, who asked if Mika was my cat. Apparently, Mika visited them as well.
On one summer day, Mika strutted up to my window with a brand new ‘do. Most of her fur was buzzed short, and she was sporting what is known as a lion cut. My first reaction was that pitying “aww” you might give to a kid who cut their own hair badly. While I have seen other dogs and cats with similar haircuts give off a vibe of embarrassment, Mika showed none. Her sense of self was not defined by her fur cut or her crossed eyes. She confidently sauntered around my home with not a care in the world. It was inspiring.
When I think about the effect Mika has had on me, I remember another cat that once ruled another neighbourhood. Chewbacca S. Wookie, Chewie for short, was the much-loved ginger tabby of some close friends. He would often be seen parading around his neighbourhood, letting passersby pet him or visiting the bakery at the end of the street for treats. Sometimes, Chewie would come in on a cold night with warm fur smelling of a fireplace. Like Mika, Chewie had many second homes. After he died, my friends found out how many people he had touched. His loss was grieved by a whole community.
Many neighbourhoods across Canada have cats that everyone knows and loves. In my neck of the woods, Mika has that role.
As the weather got colder, Mika’s visits became less frequent, but while the quantity diminished, the quality skyrocketed. Some visits lasted hours; the bulk of which were spent with her sleeping on my bed. I felt honoured that she felt safe in my presence. With the temperature dropping further now, I fear I will not see Mika until the spring thaw.
While the lockdown has been awful, I suspect I might not have ever met Mika had it not happened. (Sadly, cats rarely visit downtown offices.) But perhaps she came by at this time because she sensed a need for connection on my part.
While dogs are said to be man’s best friend, a good cat can be everyone’s best friend.
Matthew Romanada lives in Toronto.
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