Fembat Unhinged

Twenty years ago today I found two small kittens hiding in bushes. They were barely four weeks old. One of them died of cat flu within days. But Kypa, feisty and strong, survived.

She was a vicious old hag. A scratching, biting, ball of fur. I miss her.

The memory is a strange thing. I know a lot of things have occurred during the last twenty years. There are some memories of events, like rescuing Kypa, I remember so well. Every little detail. Yet, strangely, events which happened only a short time ago are already blurring.

I remember Mum and I had just returned from Spain. We had been to Cala Mondrago on the Island of Mallorca, stayed at Hostal Condemar. It was the beginning of a love affair which was to lead us to live here eventually… We had decided to go for a walk to discuss our plans. The evening was warm and pleasant. We took a walk known locally as the “19 acres” which covers the ground of an old derelict house Hatfield Hall (now a Golf Course).  We were ambling along, chatting about our plans, when we heard a soft mewing noise. Two very small kittens appeared from a small bush to the left of us. A large box was tipped over, and it was clearly somewhere they had been hidden.

They were young and frightened. I´ve always been a little soft where animals are concerned and, since it was clear these two had been abandoned, we decided to take them home with us. I approached a small dark coloured kitten (her coat was black & white flecks, which later earned her the nickname Pepper – later still, Pepa).  She was friendly and licked my hand. The other, a paler grey version of her sister, hissed and struck out with her tiny paw. She had some courage. Eventually we persuaded her we were friendly. She earned the name Kypa.

I remember the journey home. These two small cats cradled in our arms. Pepa cuddled into my mothers arms and slept peacefully. Kypa held herself rigid, clearly angered by the restraint. I believe she also bit me once or twice.

Our family were bemused when we walked into the living room with two small cats but no one argued that they were to stay. I think, despite the fact my Grandfather always argued he preferred dogs, he was charmed by them.

The following morning however Pepa was gravely ill. Kypa soon followed. We rushed to the vet but, sadly, Pepa died very quickly. We tried to save her but, ultimately, she was too weak. Cat flu. Kypa had a struggle. We would have to put her in a steamy room to clear her airways enough for her to breath. She lived, just. The Vet was surprised we had managed to save her, but warned she would neither gain weight or live to a great age.

She had some strength in her. She was the most argumentative anti-social cat I have ever met. She was aloof, guarded and angry. She´d tempt you in with a smile and a purr, and then scratch and bite you. When she did want your company she had a certain charm. She took to my Grandfather straight away, and to our absolute amazement, slept on his pillow at night. When he died, less than a year later, I swear she grieved.

Kypa never gained weight. She was always very slender. Whenever we attended a new vets they would always raise the issue of her being underweight. But she lived to a fair old age – just short of 20.

So, twenty years huh? What the hell happened? Who stole them? I want them back!