Testimonies: How a cat changed our lives

Zerbil, our enormous ginger cat, came to us when my daughter married a man with a terrible allergy to cats. Zerbil settled in happily. He was scrupulously polite but rather pushy; an obvious “A” type. He was in charge and knew how to put this across. He obviously assumed he was our equal. My husband and I soon became used to the idea that in some ways he had simply replaced the children, but we could not quite accept him as our equal.

In the years that followed, Zerbil ruled as best he could. His top-notch diet cost us more than the children had ever done. This came about by his use of the hunger strike method, refusing to eat until we found something which he liked. The benefit to him being that the particular bio-dynamic, organic and extremely costly product that he had chosen, kept him lively, on form and super-demanding even at the age of sixteen which was when my husband and I had the chance to travel to Tasmania, that little island Under Down Under.

We would be away for almost four weeks. My daughter and a neighbour, both well known and possibly well liked by Zerbil agreed to meet with him daily between them and care for him in the manner to which he had become accustomed. This arrangement seemed agreeable to us all.

Reports from the northern hemisphere to the southern were going well. Zerbil was being a model cat. I asked my daughter if this did not seem suspicious. She didn’t. I did and as the first week rolled into the second an ominous silence from the Americas sent me to the telephone. I guess my name kept cropping up on my daughter’s cell phone because it took several days before she reluctantly answered my calls.

“Hallo Mom! Well, yes, there was a bit of a problem, but it’s fine now!”

“What! Tell me! Is Zerbil OK?”

“Oh yes! Zerbil has never been finer.”

“What then?” I heard the deeply taken breath as my daughter began to tell the tale.

“Well, as you know, Mom. Zerbil is a very clean cat. Always goes outside; the house is always fresh and never smells catty or anything. We-ell…”

“Yes! Yes!” Impatience was begining to overtake me.

“The fact is, Mom, we began to smell something…. Something bad. I thought it might have been some garbage that you had forgotten, but it wasn’t.”

“What did he do?” I said, not really wanting to hear.

“Upstairs; in your bedroom; all over your bed. Oh Mom! It had soaked right through to the mattress. It was awful.”

Complete silence ruled. Eventually I said:

“And?” My daughter’s response was immediate.

“We got rid of it all, including the mattress and we drove to Ikea and bought you a nice new one. It was under five hundred dollars. We shut all the interior doors and made sure Zerbil only had access to the kitchen and outside, and now every thing is fine. I’m sorry Mom.”

I knew her ‘Sorry’ included the fact that I had the darn cat at all. I knew it was not her fault and I knew, that in spite of the fact that I would dearly like to strangle Zerbil with my own hands that I did not blame him either.

We returned after a splendid holiday to a super new mattress. A mattress that had long been on our list to buy! The old one which Zerbil had so conveniently demolished for us had been more than fifteen years old and we had never quite justified the money for a replacement.

Zerbil was vociferous in his welcome back speech, telling us no doubt of his achievements in our absence. And I have to admit I thanked him for the wonderfully improved nights of sleep which I now enjoy. Zerbil has remained a clean and self respecting cat. No misdemeanours before or since his gift (albeit at our expense) of the new mattress.

Thank you, Zerbil