You may as well know now that I’m a sentimental old goat. My home is filled with treasures: that old Jack Hobbs cricket bat I picked up in Portobello Road a few years ago, which reminds me of one of my more exciting London adventures; the signed Mary Gates Dewey ceramic cat I’d been lusting after that I grabbed for a few quid at an antique store; books from faraway places; old competition ribbons that my horse and I might’ve won, had we actually competed. Bought those on Ebay! And I love them all! I can look around my home any time I want and be reminded of where I’ve been and what I’ve done. I even have the tins of remains from the many special pets I’ve cremated over the years. Those hold some of the finest memories of all.
While it’s true that I’ve loved many critters, over the years, it’s also true that some hold a slightly larger place in my heart than others. They’ve all been special, mind. It’s just that some have been a little more special than others, and nowhere else is that more true than with a deaf cat named Macavity. Macavity had been born deaf, and was originally someone else’s cat besides. The fellow who owned him was a drug addict so firmly entrenched in his addiction that when Macavity became deathly ill, it fell to me (as the by-then ex-girlfriend) to have him seen to by the vet. The addict in question preferred to spend his money on drugs, not his cat. When he went to jail for stalking me, I took possession of Macavity and moved across town.
At that point, Macavity’s care fell to me alone, and it was considerable: there were daily infusions of fluids, in order to help his kidneys and liver flush out all the toxic cooties that were building up; there were daily doses of antibiotic, and dietary supplements; there were numerous frantic phone calls to the vet when some new symptom presented itself. I had never before dealt with such an all-encompassing – and ultimately fatal – disease. It took everything I had – time, money, heartache, ingenuity, patience, and love – and then some. Caring for Macavity was the finest thing I’d ever done.
I’ve suffered the loss of a number of pets, over the years. Some cats, a duck or two, a few horses. And I mourned them all deeply. But I mourned Macavity more precisely because I had given everything I had to his care. You try spending 13 months caring for a cat who was supposed to have died after 2 months, a cat whose every symptom confounded you, a cat who required all those daily needles in his neck, and the supplement paste being forced into his mouth, and the round-the-clock worrying, without it leaving a huge indelible mark on your heart. At that point, your noble effort becomes a cause celebre, a footnote in your life that will always be remembered by those who saw you giving so much. It was this way with Macavity, and I suspect it was also that way with a cat named Oskar.
You may not know Oskar, but you can learn all about him from his Facebook page (www.facebook.com/blindoskar/). He was born with two tiny sightless orbs in his head, and started out his life on a farm. As a kitten, he was discovered by Mick and Bethany. They had come to the farm in search of a vintage autoharp. What they found instead would change their lives forever.
When they brought Oskar home, they were intrigued to discover not a frightened feline cowering from fear of a new and unknown situation, but rather a confident cat who easily mastered the layout of his new home, discovering not only everything at floor-level but ultimately, the things above his head, as well. He even taught himself to play fetch! If you scroll through his Facebook page, you’ll find numerous pictures of him lounging on a cat tower, a hammock, and anything else that interested him enough to attempt. Oskar was one intrepid cat!
It was probably precisely because he was a notable presence on Facebook that the National Federation for the Blind came calling. They liked the idea of a blind animal being confident and capable; it was a concept that blind children could identify with, and – hopefully – find encouragement from.
Mick’s cause celebre eventually morphed, as is often the case, into a realm all its own: Mick wrote a couple of children’s books about the adventures of Oskar and his feline sidekick, The Klaus. Eventually, those books became available on audio and in braille. In addition, Oskar’s original online presence turned into a website (www.oskarandklaus.com) selling not just Mick’s books, but also cat toys and cat beds, too. The main objective, however, remained the same: creating awareness of special needs pets, and how rewarding their lives can be, and bringing a message to blind children that if a cat can do it, they can, too.
As if being noticed by the Federation for the Blind wasn’t enough, the non-profit Story Time From Space came knocking as well. They selected Mick’s Mission to Cataria to be launched into space aboard a SpaceX rocket. Once launched, astronauts from the International Space Station retrieved the capsule containing the story of Oskar and The Klaus’s space adventure. The book will soon be read by one of the astronauts and broadcast to classrooms around the globe via video feed. Story Time hopes to encourage blind children to pursue education in math and science, and what better way to do that than through the adventures of a blind “astrocat”?!
Oskar did not live to the ripe old age that he should’ve, though. He died unexpectedly just two weeks ago, aged 6 1/2 years, from suspected heart failure. It seems unlikely that he knew just how special he was, but 225,313 Facebook followers did – myself included – and you can bet that a great many of them paused to contemplate what a terrible blow his passing must have been for Mick and Bethany. I can certainly relate to that.
I’ve kept my eye on Oskar’s Facebook page since his passing, and the tributes continue to pour in from the many people his life touched. Artists post paintings they’ve done, and puzzles they created. There was even a video featuring a Finnish woman singing a song about pet loss while photos of pets who had died flashed on the screen. One of the photos was Oskar’s.
When I spoke to Mick, a few days ago, he sounded upbeat about Oskar’s legacy. Mick and Bethany plan to move forward with the dual projects of encouraging people to adopt special needs pets, as well as encouraging blind children to aim high in their studies. In addition, they continue to donate the Oskar adventure books to children’s hospitals around the country.
Oskar’s legacy will touch at least as many souls as his presence in this world did. Still, learning to adjust to Life After is always difficult and heart-rending. I encourage you to check out Oskar’s Facebook page and leave a comment. Grief shared is grief lessened. And please consider making your next pet one with special needs. Mick and I can both attest to how much joy they can bring you!
Until next time, please be kind to all the critters!
