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"the Many and Varied Misadventures of Felix the Cat"

In Greece, a cat is considered by many to be a garden animal, much as a squirrel or chipmunk is regarded in Britain or America. Most cats are left to fend for themselves, the thinking being that they will control the rodent population more effectively if they must hunt for their food. The average life expectancy for an outdoor cat in Greece, I'm told by a veterinarian, is about three years. This is due to the many hazards they encounter (mainly car traffic) as they prowl through village alleyways, congregate in front of restaurants, or explore the countryside unprotected.

We adopted our cat Felix from an animal shelter about a year before we came to Greece to live. At the time it was assumed that he was about three years old, but his actual history was unknown. Over time we have concluded that he'd been brought to the shelter after his original owner had died. (We have our reasons for making this assumption).

For the first year that Felix was with us, we lived in a city apartment, so he remained an indoor cat. He seemed happy enough with the arrangement, so we naturally assumed that that had been his previous lifestyle as well. When we decided to come to Corfu to live, the question obviously arose about what to do with Felix. Even during the first year he'd lived with us, we'd grown quite fond of him, and we really did not want to give him up. At the same time, the thought of moving an animal five thousand miles to a new home on a different continent seemed to us a bit far-fetched. Finally, we made the difficult decision to give him up, and Kelly found a very nice fellow who agreed to adopt him. Arrangements were made, and on a Saturday morning one week before we were to leave for Greece, the new caretaker arrived to collect him. After a short bonding session, and a tearful good-bye, Felix was off to his new home. Or so we thought...

As the hours passed that day, we grew more and more despondent about giving Felix up for adoption; and about seven that evening my wife decided to telephone the new owner to see what might be arranged concerning his return. "I've made the biggest mistake," she told the fellow. "I've given away my best friend." Well, it's easy to say in hindsight that Felix had worked his way deep into her heart, and the decision was made to take him to Greece, come what may. We telephoned the airline and bought his passage from Denver to Frankfurt, then on to Athens.

Felix made the journey to Greece like a real trooper. Inside his flexible carrier bag, he flew underneath the forward seat for fourteen hours without making a sound (somewhat uncharacteristic; he's normally quite a talker, which he probably gets from me) and without making a mess (if you get my drift).

Once we'd moved into our new digs on Corfu, Felix seemed to make the adjustment without concern. He was still an indoor cat, as he'd never known anything else; but when we'd return after being out, we'd see his little head looking through the parted shutters of our kitchen window, and I began to wonder just how long we could keep him inside our small apartment before he grew curious and ventured out on his own. We decided to introduce him to the great outdoors of our small garden, and of course his new outdoor life was soon underway.

As that first summer grew hotter and hotter, we of course left our windows open, and Felix soon determined that the open window just above the stairs leading to the garden was his doorway. He came and went at will, and sometimes he was gone for hours. Yet he always returned, sometimes with a gift for us.

As autumn came and the nights grew colder, Felix became an avid hunter. Not only did he leave mice he'd caught on our windowsill, he picked bats right out of the air in mid-flight and deposited them in our small lounge. As cats will be, he was immensely proud of his conquests. One night, I got up in the middle of the night to find a very large (and very dead) rat deposited smack in the center of our lounge. All in a night's work for Felix!

I was personally quite happy Felix had attained his freedom to come and go at will, and to do as cats do outdoors. He seemed very happy with the new arrangement, and obviously there was a vast world beyond our walls for him to explore. All seemed to be going quite well until one day he went outside in the early morning but failed to return by ten that evening. Needless to say, we were worried for his safety and went round the immediate environment looking for him. We found no trace of him, nor did he return that night. Next day, we searched the village, but of course finding a cat that does not wish to be found is next to impossible. He did not return on that second day, or the next. We posted his photo around the village, along with a message that said he was missing, as well as our contact information. For nine days we neither saw him nor heard any information that might determine what had happened to him. I admit that I thought the worst, that he'd wandered out to the highway and been struck by a car, then his remains disposed of by whomever. Kelly remained more optimistic. "I know he's not dead," she maintained. "I'm just afraid that he's been injured and is unable to come home."

Just when we'd really come round to giving him up for lost, my wife heard our neighbor calling to her. "
Gato
! Gato!" We rushed down to the garden to find Felix, emaciated and a bit delirious (or so it seemed). Wherever he'd been for the past ten days, it was obvious that he'd not had food, and probably little to drink. We brought him inside our apartment, but he was so bad off that he did not even seem to recognize that he'd come home. He crouched underneath our desk, barely moving, and I was afraid he would not last the night. We telephoned a vet, who said he would come after four hours. When the vet arrived, he too was skeptical about Felix's recovery. He gave him a shot of Cortisone to help him breathe, and also to ease whatever pain he might have been experiencing. "He's obviously starving," said the vet. "If he'll take food and water, there's a chance, but we'll just have to wait and see." When the vet left, I was able to coax him to take a few bites of tuna, though I was still fearful that he was on his last legs, so to speak.

That night we took turns sitting up with him. When morning came, he was still with us, though very, very weak. His back legs would barely carry his weight, and it was heartbreaking to see him try to walk, only to falter and fall down. For two straight weeks we fed him better than we fed ourselves, giving him an entire roasted chicken, tuna fish, pork chops, steak, and whatever else we thought might nourish him back to health. Slowly, he began to regain his strength, though it took several months before he was able to use his hind legs to even jump the short distance from the floor onto our bed.

Another time, he managed to get some sort of wild reed inside his eye, and we had to have the vet perform surgery to remove it. "This plant is particularly dangerous for cats," Dr. Markos told us, "because it grows into their system and entangles itself around the heart."

Sometime later, Felix was attacked by a fox, required two separate surgeries, and spent the next three months gaining back the use of one of his hind legs.

The apartment where we now live is two and a half stories above the street. It has three balconies. Felix likes to walk the railings, fearless and indignant as a circus performer, and does not seem very concerned that there is no net below to catch him if he falls. And fall he has--twice!

These days, Felix has gone into voluntary retirement. He seldom goes outside, and when he does, it is only to sniff around the garden. Unlike his more independent youth, he always comes home when we call him. He's nine years old now, after all, and he's earned his leisure. He still walks the railings though; there seems to be no way to stop him. By Greek standards, he is a very old cat. By my calculation, he's used up eight of his nine lives. He's durable if nothing else. We still take great enjoyment from his company, and it seems that the feeling is mutual. We're hoping that his so-called retirement will mean no more mishaps, but perhaps that is too much to assume. Until Felix's next great misadventure, we bide our time. This morning, as I write, he's camped out on top of the bookcase, which means he's about to take yet another nap. I can relax, knowing he's safe and sound. But I often wonder: Just when and how did I become so devoted a pet owner? And aside from that, who actually owns whom? It's a question that every cat owner must face sooner or later.

About the Author

David Ross is an author and publisher.
http://www.open-bks.com
http://www.happyholidayscorfu.com
http://www.corfumagazine.com

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Kim Kardashian or Jessica Simpson?
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