Olivia

I have two cats. Both black. And since our son was born three years ago, my brain has lost almost all capacity to give them attention or keep any space in my head occupied by anything beyond business and family.

The older cat, Baas — named after the many Dutch sailors hoping to dig up a chest of gold hidden by pirates in the East Indies — is also a digger.

He digs through the litter like an excavator, and once the bathroom floor is covered with sand, both cats run around the house with it stuck between their toes, salting every corner.

One of my wife's favorite jokes is that we have to let the cats go find jobs. Then she lets them onto the balcony, closes the door behind them, and tells me we have to pack our bags and leave until they come back.

Last summer, during one of those hot-as-hell August Lisbon days, I was passing by the kitchen and a thought crossed my mind.

"I haven't seen Baas for a while."

I started calling him and wandering from one room to another, but couldn't find him anywhere.

During summer we keep the balcony doors open, and Baas had already travelled to our neighbours' gardens overnight before.

"No big deal. I'll check on him tomorrow."

The next morning, my wife, Kris, asked me the same question.

"Have you seen Baas since we returned from the weekend trip? It's Tuesday already."

I paused.

"Shit. We've been on a weekend trip. I completely forgot about him, swallowed by work."

"The house was closed since Friday, right?"

"Right."

We started the search. I printed a pile of "missing cat" posters at my coworking space and went around the neighbourhood sticking them on building corners. Kristina was posting in neighbourhood Facebook groups. We called the vet to report him as missing. He had a chip, and if someone brought him to any vet clinic in Portugal, they'd call us.

When there was nothing left to be done, I finally started processing what I felt. I was ashamed. The cat had spent ten years with me by now. He was a family member. And I had completely forgotten about him in my daily hustle. As if he was a piece of furniture. And not for a day or two, but for five days straight.

I went to sleep with a heavy heart, and the next morning it didn't get better. I opened the balcony door from our kitchen as I was making the morning coffee.

I called, "Baas."

Silence.

⸻

In the middle of the day, I suddenly got a call from Kris.

"Some woman saw Baas in the bushes five blocks away from our house. She saw the poster."

"I'm running home to pick up the cat carrier. Figure out the exact location."

My coworking space is only ten minutes away from our house, so I rushed to grab the carrier and meet the woman. She kindly agreed to wait for me and show me the cat.

When I arrived at the location, a smiling Portuguese lady in her 50s was waiting for me, holding her arms crossed over her chest. Her face was so understanding, as if she had spent the last two days listening to my stressed excuses.

She pointed at the bushes.

"I saw him behind these plants around 30 minutes ago."

I started calling him… and miraculously… his black face appeared at the edge of the bush. Oh my god, he had got so thin. Five days on the street without food. I felt embarrassed.

I had brought the cat carrier with me for a reason. A few years ago he fell out of the window from the second floor, facing the street. He got so stressed that he completely lost orientation and stopped recognising me. Cats are not like dogs. When they're afraid, they don't lean towards their owner. They try to find a dark corner and hide there. So I'd spent 30 minutes trying to catch Baas and bring him home while he tried to scratch my hands and run as fast as he could in a random direction.

I'd been through this before. I came prepared. I brought the carrier.

Nonetheless, Baas decided to keep his old habits, and as I approached him near the bushes, he turned his back and started running away.

This time it took me around 20 minutes to catch him. I was almost done after the first ten, but Baas was spooked by a young expat couple passing by. They lived in the building and wanted to know why I was trying to catch their neighbour's cat.

"It's my cat. He's been missing for a week, and this lovely lady noticed him."

"Are you sure it's your cat? We think our neighbour has a black cat."

"That's my cat, alright? I understand I look a bit crazy running around the bushes, sorry about the mess. But I can tell if it's my cat or not. It's MY cat."

⸻

I brought Baas home. Kristina had just arrived too. I felt stressed. And I started getting a bit paranoid.

Kristina stepped towards me and hugged me. She always calls me a hero when I accomplish something tiny but worth complimenting. I secretly love that but always refuse the compliment.

"I'm so relieved you brought him home, my hero."

"Kris, I know it sounds weird, but… can you please check if the cat is Baas?"

She looked at me, a bit frightened.

"Why are you asking?"

I told her about the young couple.

She paused.

"Now, after you told me, how can I be sure of anything?"

She looked into the carrier.

"I'm not sure. He looks thinner."

"He didn't eat for a week."

"True. I'm still not sure."

"It's my cat, alright? I'm not crazy. I didn't catch some random cat on the street. I can tell my cat apart."

I decided to let him out of the cage. Kristina suggested we do it in the kitchen and close the doors, as Baas was probably stressed and might run away again.

We did that. We gave him food and water. And opened the carrier. Baas ran into the corner and refused to eat.

"He doesn't look alright. Probably stressed."

"Probably."

One of the things I love my wife for is that she's always quick to figure out practical things to do.

"Ser, you should take him to the vet. He's been on the streets for a week. He might be sick."

And they will check his chip. Thanks for the excuse, Kris. I save my face. I should know if it is my cat or not, right? But they'll check the chip as a routine. And we'll do the right thing. We'll have him checked medically.

⸻

I put the cat back in the carrier and walked to the closest vet.

As I waited for the intake, I pulled out my phone and started looking at all my photos with Baas. Cross-checking with the cat in the carrier. Same eyes, same little white dot on the chest. It was him. Just thinner. Because he had starved.

Right!?

It was my turn for intake.

I told them the story. That he was lost. Not that I wasn't sure it was my cat.

The vet was about to take him into the room for the check.

"May I ask you something? It might sound a bit strange."

I told them the second part of the story. They took the cat into the room for the check and closed the door.

I waited. Ten minutes felt like an eternity.

The vet came out of the room without the cat.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's not your cat."

I felt something crack inside. My stomach compressed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But did he have a chip?"

"Yes. We called the owner. He's coming to pick up Oscar."

⸻

That's who I was. I couldn't recognise my own cat.

But it had the same eyes, the same dot, just a slightly thinner face. And then I got even more embarrassed. Because in the whole turmoil of this my-cat-not-my-cat swing, I forgot that I had lost my cat five days ago and hadn't noticed. Or maybe six. I couldn't remember.

I decided to wait for the owner and apologise. It would also give me some time to settle with myself before I went home and told Kristina.

In 15 minutes, a middle-aged Portuguese man showed up at the clinic. I condensed all my willpower to look him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"No problem. It happens. These cats all look the same."

I pressed my fingers on my phone with the photographs. They do. Do they?

When I finally got home without a cat, Kristina hugged me and we went to bed. Also it was late.

⸻

The next day I woke up, and the first thing in my mind was the scene at the vet.

"It's not your cat."

My first reaction: embarrassment. "I look so stupid, standing here."

Secondly: my real cat was still missing.

Thirdly…

"Why the hell is the first thing that occurred to me whether I look stupid? It shouldn't matter. The cat should matter. But it didn't in the moment. I'm a selfish asshole."

My own conscience was pushing me one level deeper into my humiliation.

It felt disgusting to be myself.

I decided to distract myself and went to work.

⸻

In the afternoon I received another call from another cat clinic.

"We found your cat."

An unexpected relief of tension streamed through my body.

I was there in half an hour.

Apparently, on the very first day Baas left the house, he was picked up by another Portuguese lady who silently adopted him and took perfect care of him during the entire week.

Baas is sterilised, so she thought he was a girl and even named him Olivia.

He had been perfectly taken care of — his fur was glossy and clean, and he might have added half a pound.

The new owner had decided to bring Olivia in for a check-up, only to discover she had a Dutch rat-catcher boy on her hands, who she now had to let go.

Apparently, she left the vet heartbroken and decided not to wait for my arrival, so I didn't get a chance to meet her.

⸻

The vet brought "Olivia" out from one of the back rooms. I rushed to look at Baas's face.

I was a bit afraid to do it.

"Will I be able to tell him apart? Is there something wrong with me?"

As my thoughts were racing, the familiar black furry face appeared in front of me.

It was him.

Zero doubts.

I couldn't understand how I could have confused him with the cat from yesterday. He was so obviously different. And ours. He was family.

I felt instant relief. I could sense my cat. I'm not crazy. I know who I am again.

All the dark feelings from the past days vanished, and I started imagining how Kristina would get her portion of relief as well when we reached home.

I took the carrier and started walking through the streets of the neighbourhood.

My house was a ten-minute walk away, and as my hand was holding the carrier and my legs were marching across the Portuguese pedras, those small polished stones that make every walk feel slightly ceremonial and slightly dangerous, my thoughts slowly but steadily drifted away from the present moment.

I recalled the client meeting from the morning, an interview with a partner, a recent bug on the website.

Work was swallowing me as I moved down the street.

And then, through the stream of my thoughts, I heard a "mew."

I paused and looked at my hand holding the carrier.

I had forgotten about the cat in my hand. Again.

The story was over, but the lesson was not learned.

I have to do something about it.

About myself. Can I really change?

I put the carrier on the ground and sighed. Then I bent down and slipped my palm inside.

Baas was firm, warm, and grounding.

"I'll pet you more. And next time, if you want to leave — leave a note, Olivia."

I stood up. Stretched. And started moving towards my house.