Salem- Our Boy Who Just Knew

It has quite often been said that an animal chooses their home, not the owner. Salem, albeit an unconventional character, was no exception to this. Born simply to bring such peace and individuality to our home for 7 years- I've never known another cat quite like him, or a person for that matter! He will always be my refuge and ongoing companion. As a keen writer, I've wanted to create a memoir for him in the form of writing for a short while now. So this one's for you Salem, and everything you gave us.

Salem was brought in to the RSPCA via inspectors, as he was left abandoned, shaking and skinny. The Blackpool branch was actually due to close later that year, as they were relocating to Stalmine. Salem came in to our lives in a way that I can only describe as fate, hence why I hold such a strong belief in it now. An RSPCA campaigner had been dropping round leaflets in our local area one evening in the late summer of 2012. My mother, after a long day at work, wasn't best pleased to be disturbed by him on a Friday evening, but I think it's fair to say that it's a good job he did. "Do me a favour." he said. "Just look on the website."

So we did. And who was at the top, all curled up in his vivid, multicoloured blanket? Salem. He spoke to us then and continued to do so throughout his life. His eyes had an omniscient look about them; almost as if he knew some otherworldly secret that no one else knew-wise beyond his years, and he knew it.

We already had an elderly, diabetic cat at the time, Ole, who was on her last legs. She knew it was her time, just as we knew it was our time to visit the next feline member of our household. I happened to go horse-riding at Midgeland, which was close to the branch, so we went to visit him the very next day. He was understandably timid, which we expected, knowing his background. He had a buddy, Hugo, in his cage with him and Hugo very much brought Salem out of his shell, encouraging him out of his pen. It didn't take much deciding or even conscious thought of the practicalities of the situation for us- we were getting Salem. We were drawn to him. We noticed there was another litter of friendly, sociable kittens further up the pens that were being observed by another family, but one of the women said she wanted to see the black and white one, in reference to Salem. We took no chances, and immediately went to reserve Salem at the reception. "You want Salem?" said the receptionist, in genuine surprise that anyone would want shy, timid, unapproachable Salem. Well yes we did, we said. And her judgement was quite fittingly mistaken, as Salem grew into one of the most wonderful cats I think I will have ever have the privilege of owning.

Salem came to us on the 1st September 2012- the same day that Ole died. Again-fate. If anything, I think she would have greatly approved of her quirky successor. Salem settled in straight away. He was a clever cat; he knew this was where he was meant to be- he was treated like royalty, so he certainly wasn't complaining! We had a cage ready for him in the main room, but were fooled to think that would contain him. One meow and he was out. The collar the RSPCA gave him? That was off too-almost symbolic of him being one of the family. To anyone who didn't know Salem, it gets increasingly hard for me to explain how he was more like an old friend that had come back to us than a domesticated cat. He became part of us.

Salem's name was already given to him and quite apt it was too. He possessed this almost ethereal, magical quality; like he wasn't quite part of our world. Salem's world was mystical. We still managed to find other names for him though....Mr Mac, Wig Wham, Babbakins and Juju... An unorthodox cat for an unorthodox family you might say.

Salem loved my mother and bonded with her instantly, as she was off work for a few weeks when we first got him. I've never seen her so struck by anything as she was by Salem's death, and I'm confident to say that she probably won't be ever again. He was a trickster with my father. If he tried to pick him up he would do a little prance, scoot off between his legs and would be out the cat flap. If, on some rare occasion, he did pick him up, Salem would proceed to bury his head in defeat. Even my Dad, who had lived with several different cats growing up, said he'd never known another cat quite like Salem. He grew closer to him in his later years and would find a spot in between his legs every evening on the sofa. His little routine.

Salem knew our routine too; like he had a mapped view of it in his head. The light went off in the kitchen? We had food. Time for him to make his way to the arm of the sofa to wait for any scraps. Sunday morning? My Dad brought the tray up with his cat milk on it. Me coming back from school? He'd be waiting at the window. Always tuned in with our whereabouts, always listening, always aware. So much aware that we couldn't send him to the cattery for one holiday because he'd vanished days in advance as he knew exactly what was coming, and managed to break the cat flap in his great escape. As you can imagine, we gave up taking him there soon after.

Salem was also a fussy eater. He demanded simply the best. Whiskas? No chance. Go-cat? Practically an insult. Felix- as good as it looks? Yeah he'll have a go with that, and we ended up calling it "As good as it gets." Nonetheless, he was lucky to be able to polish off some of our food too- he clearly preferred it. From carbonara sauce, to homemade cottage pie, he'd have the lot! He often sat poised for Sunday roast on his dining room chair like a civilised, prominent member of the family, patiently waiting to see if anyone would give him some turkey or beef. We always did. He didn't like it if the meat was wrapped in tinfoil though; he had a rather odd relationship with it. He'd run out of the cat flap if he ever heard the rattling of tinfoil, but somehow always knew when it contained meat, and then would capriciously change his manner... His trademark trot would then take him behind the fridge to gain our attention, in the hope that he would gain something tasty from what was lurking in the depths. Sometimes I think I still hear the pattering of tiny feet today. We gained Salem's attention through the use of extensive vocabulary that we taught him: Mousy, Birdy, Milky, Mummy. I'll never forget the day that my Mum promised him milk from the shop, but she forgot... Salem regarded her with such contempt after that and sulked. He sulked a lot. I have pictures of him with his back to us and head in his paws on multiple occasions.

One thing, quite surprisingly, that he didn't sulk about, was the introduction of his buddy, Kurt, to the household. They were quite similar in terms of age as we got Kurt about a month after Salem. Salem always held the superior stance and authority- I think he would have done even if he wasn't there first. We were told that it will either work or it won't. Not much to go on, but luckily for us they got on and complimented each other really well. Salem would often pat Kurt over the head if he was getting in the way in the kitchen (he has a huge appetite) and would bite his ears playfully upon instruction! They made a good team in terms of conning us for more food, or hunting. Salem was the hunter, but he always brought it back to his brother so Kurt could finish it off. And by finish it off, I mean in usual cat style, throwing it around the room in a rather disrespectful manner. Salem, in all other areas and aspects of life, was delicate and graceful, but I have to say, even he would provide gifts by dunking it on the floor in front of you in a rather disorderly fashion and then walk off. Not phased. Not bothered in the slightest. He shied away from conflict with other cats too and looked upon his brother to protect the house for him. After all, he was the sort of cat who could protect it in spirit alone.

Salem liked the bathroom way too much for a cat. After a full investigation one day, he ended up falling in to a bubble bath and left the room covered in soap. Never deterred him. He'd spend ages in there some days, playing with a mermaid toy that he knocked into the bath and expected someone to put it back on the edge for him. Along with his various cheeky methods of getting our attention, such as standing right in front of the TV screen, running and skidding round the house like a nutter, he also liked to pull the sealant off the sides of the bath. Even after paying to get it re-sealed, he continued to pull it off and has made a right mess of it. More fool us! Again, this showed how undeterred Salem was. Nothing phased him. 

Until he got ill. The progression was gradual, which in a sense, made it more painful for him and for us. Polycystic kidney disease. A genetic condition which was induced by cysts growing in the kidneys. Various processes were suggested to us. Operating on him, with no real purpose other than to see what was going on, which ran the risk of him dying under anaesthetic. CT scans. Blood tests. The latter was carried out, and showed that his kidney function was below the norm, which we were aware of prior. It became somewhat of a waiting game as we were informed that his life was now hanging on an unpredictable balance. He could live years longer, or he could suddenly deteriorate. We treated Salem like a God following his diagnosis in November 2018- if he wasn't already. I gave up my chair in the main room; he was on special renal food that he didn't particularly like (bless him) and extra milk at the weekends. In a way, we were so lucky. We got another 4 months with our boy.

As previously warned by vets, his condition rapidly deteriorated, and even the vet was shocked at the amount of change Salem had undergone in the timeframe of a week. I was seeing him grow weaker, and losing sense of who he was. Most of the time I was in denial. We didn't want to see Salem suffer. He'd lived an extraordinary life, and given us so much life, and we knew that he would trust us to make the decision for him. We put Salem to sleep on the 22nd March 2019, at only 6 years old, nearly 7. Knowing that Salem's death would bring some surreal events to our house was an understatement. Around an hour after his death, he was back at home for one last lie down on his favourite chair, and he lifted his paw, as if saying goodbye for the final time. We were shocked-at first, but we all said that if Salem suddenly got up and started walking around, it really wouldn't have surprised us. That's just the sort of cat he was. Unique.

He was buried in a prime spot in the front garden- right in the centre, which had recently had conifers removed from it. Again. Fate. We brought out a lantern with us every night for the week following his death, up until his birthday, and we always had a returning visitor. An owl. An owl that brought the sharpest, most clearest sounds- some nights clearer than others, but always there. Never before this day had I ever heard owls so distinctly in our area. Again, it's hard to explain to people the great connection I felt towards this owl; almost a sense of comfort. Like he was still watching over us and guiding us. Call me senile, but we believed Salem had come back in the form of an owl, or had transferred his spirit into it, and ever since then, owls have become more noticeable to us everywhere we go, like his little message from beyond the grave. Some would even say he's got a bit of an owl-like face...

Salem's story ends exactly how it begins. I wrote a poem whilst sat next to him the day before he died, and he influenced it entirely. It mentioned spring's first blossom, and I thought it would be nice to plant a blossom tree on his grave. We looked online at Japanese blossom trees- Kojou no Mai. Kojo. Our next cat perhaps? We found the plant in our local plant centre- the last one there. Another woman was also looking at the plant, but we were taking no chances and we made sure that we got it first. After all- we believed it was meant for us. Just like Salem was.

Salem was and is our home. It's hard to describe to anyone the huge impact that Salem had and still continues to have on our lives. Even we struggle to comprehend it at times and there are times when I truly don't believe that he's gone. I'll never forget his mental moments, the way he'd cling round the arm of the sofa, his kitten meows that he carried with him into adulthood, and the little conversations I would have with him. Salem was our fate. Always loved. Always missed. Fly high my beautiful friend, you truly were an extraordinary cat.