A friend asked me to do some last-minute cat-sitting because all her regular cat-sitters were unavailable. Would my family like to move into her home and mind Sooty for a week? I love my little North Strand terraced gaff, but the prospect of moving into my friend’s architecturally stunning house with poured concrete floors and a view of Dalkey Island was difficult to resist. I said I’d have to consult my family but in my head I was already sitting out on her terrace gazing at the have-yachts and trying to accidentally-on-purpose bump into Bono in Finnegan’s.
There were a couple of concerns. I had never been asked to mind a cat before. We’ve never had a pet ourselves as a family apart from a couple of hamsters (RIP) when the girls were much smaller. Taking charge of a cat felt like a serious responsibility. I consulted some friends, regular minders of pets, and they were mostly reassuring. One of them told me cats are much lower maintenance than dogs. Another friend, an avowed “dog person”, cautioned that cats were notoriously “difficult” and “sassy”. I’m not really a “dog person” myself, but I wondered if I was a “cat person” either. I was about to find out.
The other concern was slightly more worrying. One of my daughters is actively wary of cats. She has moderate, and I had to look this word up just now, ailurophobia. Very much not a “cat person”. When she spots neighbourhood cats roaming around on our back wall, she gets the big-time heebie jeebies. Funnily enough, when I showed her some pictures of my friend’s house – the outdoor sauna, the indoor fire pit, the sweeping sea views – the moderate ailurophobia seemed to miraculously recede. We were all off to Dalkey to mind a cat and live in luxury for a little while.
Sooty is, it soon became apparent, one very cool cat. She used to be a roamer, based in a house a few streets away, before she made my friend’s home her forever home five years ago. Sooty’s previous owner was fine with the transition, acknowledging that she seemed far happier in her adopted home. Sooty doesn’t roam any more and I can’t say I blame her. I barely left my friend’s exquisite house and garden for the week while I was cat-sitting.
I got to know Sooty over the first couple of days, feeling honoured when she’d come towards me, weaving around my legs. “You are a special lady, Sooty,” I found myself telling her. This was unusual for me. I generally resist making bonds with animals, which I think goes back to my heartbreak when our family mongrel Sam died in the 1980s.
With Sooty to take care of, we all got into a routine. A treat for her in the morning, her main meal at 3pm. At night I’d wait until she was ready to come in, then open the door when she’d snuggle up on her bed. On Day 2, my moderately ailurophobic daughter confessed to a fondness for Sooty, which was a wonderful and unexpected turn-up for the books. “We are completely slaying at this cat-sitting business,” I thought to myself. Which, naturally, is when it all went a bit wrong.
From around lunchtime on Day 3, there was no sign of Sooty about the place. When she didn’t come to the door that evening I began to seriously panic. I texted her owner, who was calm and reassuring. “She’s often very near, under a bush or hiding somewhere. You can call her? She’s very resourceful, clever and not afraid of foxes.” But then: “I’ve not known her to spend the night out.” Oh dear. I did not sleep much that night. Every couple of hours until dawn, I put on my Crocs and wandered into the garden calling “Sooty, Sooty”, but of Sooty, there was no sign.
In the morning, I put her treat in the bowl. I had scheduled an online exercise class that morning with Jason in Co Meath who has three cats. Instead of doing squats and other appalling things, I spent the entire session talking about Sooty. Jason thought she might be hiding or that maybe she’d got accidentally locked in somewhere like a shed. I went to check the outdoor sauna with a heavy heart but she wasn’t in there, thank goodness.
I’ve had many arguments with my husband – but this was the first wearing a harness
Sooty’s owner is a beautiful, generous person. We talked on the phone that day and she said she believed Sooty would turn up but that even if something catastrophic (sorry) had happened “it isn’t your fault and it’s just her time”. Then she went off to consult her pet psychic who had located a missing cat for her before.
We didn’t need the pet psychic in the end. Shortly after this chat, my daughters went to the car to get a hoodie and there, snuggled up in it, was Sooty. She must have snuck into the car when we weren’t looking. She was fine. Completely calm. Joy.
It turns out I am a cat person. Or maybe I am just a Sooty person. And now I am back in the North Strand, where the kitchen tiles are cracked and there is no sea view. And no Sooty. Turns out the hardest part of cat-sitting was leaving her behind.