The Unabridged Tale of Katsu

I never expected to fall in love with a cat…

For a cat to teach me so much about myself…

Or for that same cat to break my heart a mere 6 months later.

Her name is Katsu, and this is our story:

~~~

In August 2023, amidst the depths of a summertime acid trip, prompted by an insight shared by my partner Alicia, I discovered my affinity for cats.

Around this time, I started catching glimpses of a grey cat with a white throat and nose dashing through the garden from time to time. A sign? An omen? A portent? Perhaps. Maybe. Why not?

Throughout the fall, I—we—bandied about the idea of getting a cat, considering adopting or fostering. Despite my growing interest, I hesitated. I balked due to not being enamoured with the idea of “owning” a pet of any kind. I struggled to parse my split-thinking of not wanting to confine a cat indoors (especially considering the wealth of nature I live amongst), while fearing the worst that could so easily come with loving an outdoor cat.

But still, my interest and attraction, the idea, and the conversation persisted into the depths of winter. The grey cat sightings continued, and I found the occasional broken-necked mouse in the garden.

Fast forward to January 2024, one dreary day not long after the calendar flipped, I was driving off to do human things in town when I saw an unfamiliar, gorgeous cat near the end of a driveway, two doors down from ours. I hit the brakes, unconsciously compelled to stop and observe—and so did the cat. We exchanged a long look, then carried on our separate ways.

Somehow, I put this particular cat—and our encounter—out of mind.

Around this time, our progress towards fostering or adopting at a standstill, Alicia boldly predicted: “A cat is going to show up in our life at some point”.

Two days later, amidst a classic west coast rainstorm, I saw that same gorgeous cat flashed through our yard. Without hesitation or thought, I leapt to the front door and invited her in, naturally. What else would one do?

She hesitated, full of uncertainty—but curiosity (I presume) got the better of her, as she quickly accepted the invitation into a stranger’s home. Seeing how startlingly skinny she was, she soon found herself in front of a bowl of canned tuna, eating like she’d never eaten before. Despite her unease, perhaps because of the weather, and her full belly, she didn’t seem inclined to leave. I didn’t have the heart to force her out into the storm, not knowing if she had a home to return to. So we left her inside while having dinner at my parents. Which may have been a mistake, given how she clawed up the weatherstripping on our back door in a fruitless attempt to return outdoors.

She left shortly after we returned that night, and every day that followed I kept my eyes peeled for her in the yard—but nothing.

Two weeks passed without so much as a glimpse of her, and she began to fade from mind—which of course was when she decided to appear again, this time standing on our porch, looking through our glass back door, clearly asking to come in. I was happy to oblige, and gave her a snack.

From that day forward, she visited every day, for gradually increasing lengths of time, slowly displaying signs of growing comfort, ease, and familiarity, but never staying the night. Then, we went away for two consecutive weekends in February, and each time upon return, the length of her visits expanded.

The time had come to figure out this mysterious cat’s story and where she came from, if anywhere—for she looked like a stray but acted like a pet.

We took her to the SPCA, and no tattoo or microchip marked her as someone’s cat. Nor did she appear in any of our local missing pet boards, scouring posts going back to the fall. Feeling secure in the knowledge that she was a stray, we bought her a sushi-decorated collar, named her Purry Katsu after one of my favourite meals (Japanese curry with fried chicken cutlets)...

And four days later she came in with a note attached to her collar, explaining that her name was Cougie-Ann. She began life as a stray on the streets of New York City, found her way to Vargas Island (a small island off the west coast of Vancouver Island), then Victoria (the largest city on the island, at the southern tip), and finally, three doors down from us in the Comox Valley. The owners wanted to meet us, “the collar people.” I was SO nervous, fearful too. I so badly wanted Katsu to be ours to care for, but I also didn’t want to steal someone else’s cat—even if her care left plenty to be desired in my eyes.

Over tea, we learned that she was 15 (not the young girl we’d assumed based on how small she was), a lifelong outdoor cat who wasn’t allowed inside, and that she had a small indoor shelter, food, water, and a fellow cat friend.

Suddenly her stray-but-not-a-stray behaviour made sense. And thankfully, our neighbours had no qualms with her visiting us, nor our caring for her.

We were elated and relieved—which was a lovely outcome for Katsu too, for she was clearly craving human touch and attention that she’d not received in who knows how long. I’d put my money on never, sadly. And I suspect she either didn’t like the food on offer at this house, was being out-competed for it, or not given enough—hence her worrying skinniness.

In the weeks that followed, the time she spent with us continued to slowly-but-steadily increase, and fortunately, so did her weight. Working with what patience she’d bestow upon us, we gradually tended to the thick swathes of mats covering her hips and chest, which resulted in leaving large bald patches in her gorgeous coat. And we got her deworming pills, to ease her bloated, swollen belly.

Her other caretakers are lovely and well-meaning people, but Katsu needed—and deserved—hands-on care, which we were happy to provide.

Armed with a deeper knowledge of her history, we began piecing together just how hard her life must have been, a stray in NYC, clearly the runt of her litter, left to her own devices, to fend for herself, a cat in need of human help.

So in addition to giving her food, water, touch, and attention, we began drawing out her inner, long-lost kitten with dangly strings and crinkly toys. I don’t think she’s ever had much opportunity to play before. Delightfully, she soon began playing of her own accord. She also began tricking us into feeding her by seemingly meowing at the door to go outside, then running over to where her meals were prepared once we’d get up, looking at us pointedly and meowing expectantly.

When she began spending the night in April, she’d cuddled against my chest and under my arm—and chirp at us in the morning when she’s awake and ready for company. She brought us her kills—a huge rat, a small bird, and two young bunnies. Her tail would shoot straight up and vibrate with joy upon seeing us after she’d spent hours off adventuring, or we’d been out of the house. 

Sometimes, she managed to open the back door and let herself in. She’d warble as if possessed when the grey cat appeared, defending her territory.

She’d leap into our laps, always situating her head to the left, whenever she wanted touching. Her belly no longer bloated and swelled after eating once we got her anti-worm medication, the bald patches in her coat filled back in and became so much softer and smoother, and she put some meat on her bones. She’d do her best to communicate her needs by rubbing, pawing, chirping, and meowing—and we’d do our best to interpret and fulfill what she’s asking for.

She’s a willful one who refuses to take no for answer when asking for what she needs and wants, which has led me to understand that you can never truly own a cat. Rather, you serve and support them as they command.

In finding a home where her previously unmet needs and wants were finally being fulfilled, she choose us more and more—which is one of the greatest, most unexpected gifts I’ve ever received.

And that, dear reader, is the unabridged tale of Little Miss Purry Katsu, Katsuda, the Little Lion, KitKat, and Kat—the furry little angel.

But alas, that’s not where our story ends. And now the happiness fades.

In the latter half of April, our landlords whom we share a yard space with, adopted a dog without ever having met him—a stray from Mexico. We’d learned prior that Katsu is extremely anti-dog… And this dog is of the barky, high-energy, poor listening, borderline aggressive at times type.

As soon as I realized that he was pissing all over my plants, and I watched helplessly on a few occasions as he frightened Katsu all the way back to her other home, I built a fence in effort to keep her (and the plants) safe. This helped, but Katsu would still need to cross his territory in order to reach hers.

Then when May came, Alicia and I left on our long-since planned 4-week trip to Europe—and I feared. I feared that being away for so long would break the trust we’d built in Katsu. I feared that she’d have more encounters with the dog. And I feared that she’d no longer find our home safe to visit.

Upon returning home, I immediately began calling for her. I was patient, knowing that even in the best case scenario, she’d be miffed at our absence and keep her distance for a time—as cats do. I kept calling. I kept watching out the back door. And I paid her a visit at our neighbours to let her know that we were home, able to open our door to her again. She never came.

~~~

Now two months later at the time of writing, she still hasn’t returned. And we’ve begrudgingly accepted that our experience with Katsu is likely over.

Which has led me to reframe our time with Katsu as what Alicia and I ultimately needed: A fleeting experience with a cat, teaching us whether or not we would like to have a cat around on a more permanent basis.

On that note, there’s a smoky little panther I’ll introduce you to soon 🐈‍⬛ :)

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander Mullan