Lewis

Hokke wasn’t the first cat to choose me. Back in the fall of 2007, I was living a vastly different life, scraping out a living in a dead-end job in the Scottish border town of Dumfries. I was nearing the end of a doomed relationship, we were about a year past our sell-by date but still struggling onward. For some reason, we decided to adopt a kitten which turned out to be the one good thing to come from that time of my life.

We’d initially arranged to see a litter of kittens about an hour’s drive away but fate intervened before we ever got there. We stopped at a pet store to pick up supplies for our new addition and just as we were about to leave, an old man pinned a notice on the board looking for homes for kittens. He lived out in the countryside and his wife fed a feral cat that turned up to their house from time to time. One day the cat showed up pregnant so they let her stay in their garage.

Another family overheard the conversation and joined us in following the old man back to his house. We made sure to get in front of the other family to have first pick of the kittens. As we sped past miles of trees and empty fields, we wondered how we were going to decide which was the right kitten. It turned out we wouldn’t actually have much of a say in the matter.

We pulled into a hidden path and arrived out a well-kept little cottage miles away from any other dwelling. As soon as we were let inside we were greeted by 5 or 6 little ginger kittens and their mother. Often cat litters are a mix of colors but this one was entirely orange. One of the kittens trotted up to me bold as brass and I scooped to pick it up. The kitten nuzzled my hand and fell asleep.

“We’ll take this one.”

We initially named the kitten Lois but after a few days noticed “she” had testicles so Lois became Lewis. His feral lineage meant we had to train him to use the littler box by plonking him in it after every meal. Thankfully he caught on pretty quickly and after a few days of hiding out under the dining room table, quickly grew in confidence. And size. One minute he could fit in the palm of your hand, the next he was the size of a basketball and much the same shape. His unusually vibrant coloring and naturally sweet expression easily capture the hearts of those who meet him.

The mystery of his great size was solved when we discovered a neighbor used to buy cutlets of meat to feed any cat that visited him and Lewis went over there most days. Stopping either the neighbor or Lewis would have been an exercise in futility. As well as Lewis was settling and as much as I enjoyed his company, life at home was getting steadily worse. A long-term relationship in its death throes is a difficult thing to endure. Arguments became almost daily, became more personal and I just felt trapped and weary. Perhaps sensing this terrible energy at home, Lewis disappeared for almost two weeks.

I was worried and left food out for him hoping to coax him back home but only a scruffy Persian cat ever showed up. I finally ended the relationship in the winter of 2008 when I just couldn’t take it anymore. I left for a few days to allow her to pack up and leave. When I asked about Lewis, she just scoffed and said “You keep him.” I felt my decision to break things off was vindicated immediately.

The very moment I came back to the house, I saw an orange blur come dashing towards me. Lewis came running from the other side of the street to welcome me home. He ran inside like he’d never left and curled up at my feet that night. He stayed close for those next few weeks I was in the house alone.

I used to work with a lovely but crazy South African woman who was worried about me. She had a son roughly my age so probably felt responsible for my well-being. Anyway, she was convinced me being newly single meant I couldn’t cook for myself so brought me a gigantic pie one day. I’m a pretty open-minded person when it comes to food but I don’t think peaches and chicken make for a very good combination. Maybe that’s just me.

For me, wasting food is a cardinal sin but I couldn’t manage more than a slice of Frieda’s cooking so I put it on the floor to see if Lewis wanted some. The pie would have been enough for three dinners had it been edible. Lewis polished the entire thing off in the course of a day and a half. We lived quite happily as man and cat for a month but I had to downsize because the house was too expensive on my meager salary.

I had to take Lewis up to my brother’s for what I hoped was a temporary living situation. He and his now fiance lived in Edinburgh at the time, which meant a lengthy and indirect train journey. We almost didn’t make it when Lewis’s immense bulk crashed against the carrier door and he sprung free. I had to run down the main street of Dumfries after the fat little tiger. I can still hear the laughter of the local yokels. Lewis turned a corner and then got scared, he yowled until I caught up with him and sheepishly climbed back into the carrier.

We wouldn’t be apart for very long.

I look upon the period of 2007-2012 as my “lost years”, they were a span of many setbacks and disappointments as I struggled to make sense of my life. I lost the rubbish job I had and left Dumfries, not sure where to go next I wound up at my brother’s place in Edinburgh for a while. My first night there Lewis welcomed me back by curling up at my feet. I like to think he would do that whenever I was upset or worried.

I remember a strange episode one Christmas when my brother and I traveled up to our sister’s place in Fife. As we were leaving his apartment in the evening, we had to get Lewis back inside. It didn’t take long before Lewis came bounding up the stairs. Upon seeing our cat, a group of passing teenagers whom we’d never interacted with, said to one another, “look it’s Lewis!” I still don’t know exactly how they knew his name. I guess he makes friends easily.

In 2011 I drifted back to my little hometown in northern Scotland as my difficult period reached its lowest ebb. My siblings also wound up back there as we all had our own personal struggles to contend with. As miserable as most of that time was, I’m sincerely grateful for all of it and would change nothing if I could go back. Some of the problems were of my own making, others were just plain bad luck. All were crucial in marking out the radical new direction my life needed to take. What else would cause me to try my luck in Asia?

I remember one instance when my mother and I took Lewis to the vet. The vet was a young English woman, probably a recent graduate. As she was listening to his heartbeat, Lewis reached up and very gently licked her on the cheek. The corners of the vet’s mouth betrayed her attempt to stay cool. “They don’t normally kiss me.” She blushed.

He’s a real charmer.

When I decided to move to South Korea I was comforted by the knowledge Lewis would be in loving hands. He was effectively the family cat now, beloved by all of us and very aware of our devotion. He would thank us by biting ankles and snatching food. After a spell with my mother, where his food pilfering skills reached their zenith, he ended up with my brother and his fiance in London where he has lived many happy years. I last saw him when I was over in summer 2018 and he took his customary spot at my feet that first night Levy and I stayed over.

I was prompted to write about Lewis’s eventful life after receiving news about his health. I’m hopeful he still has a while yet but aware that I might not get to see him again. If I don’t then my last memory of him is a fitting one - him trying to pinch a bite of the sandwich I was eating right out of my hand. There’ll be a fair amount of sadness when the inevitable comes but even more gratitude. I’m grateful for the time I had with him, I’m glad he’s lived a good life surrounded by people who love him. I’m also glad Levy got to meet him a couple of times and knows just how charming he can be. Most of all, I’m grateful for the comfort he provided when I needed it the most.