Hazel Dreaming

The return of Hazel is fast becoming one on my classic anecdotes. The most common response at the end of the story is something along the lines of ‘I can’t believe that happened’.

In telling and retelling I fudge the details making the series of coincidences more or less believable. The problem with this story is most probably a common one, that it cuts into other elements of my biography and becomes difficult to dig out.

As I remember it I first met Hazel when I was 15 in 2005 at this time I had just completed two weeks work experience at a vet which mostly involved me sneaking into the back to cuddle somewhat sedated cats. On their noticeboard was a sign intimating that someone had kittens ‘free to a good home.’ A certain amount of begging later my mother agreed I could have a kitten for my birthday. This misjudgment on her part was due to her assumption I was planning on becoming a vet and having a kitten would to some extent, be an extension of my work experience.

The kittens were the result of two unspayed cats getting out at night on a farm. There were 10, five from each litter, though no one including the mothers seemed to know which 5 belonged to which set. Hazel was the smallest and possibly ugliest of them all, the rest were tortoiseshell and white with distinct parches of white, black and ginger fur. Hazel was what I would call a ‘farmyard tortoiseshell’ ginger with a light overlay of black dots as if she’s been splattered with ink.

I chose her because she seemed to be the odd one out, she seemed shy where her siblings and cousins were friendly and she had rather crooked back legs so her knees almost touched. She proved every bit as unfriendly as this beginning promised, she had very particular views on how she would be petted. She had to be wrapped in a blanket like an exceptionally unmerry Christmas present to perform tasks such as clipping her claws or giving her (much needed) ear drops. Still I felt we understood each other, we were both rather kinder to each other than the rest of the world and I relied increasingly on her affectionate presence as my teens progressed.

I am not sure when I realised that Hazel wasn’t going to be able to accompany me to university, probably rather later than was reasonable. I was not unduly troubled by the thought, I would see her for the holidays and then I would get a job somewhere (I thought perhaps Oxford) and retrieve my cat.

This brings us to the next phase of my story which is how I lost touch with Hazel. I graduated during the height of the financial crisis with no particular skills and for a long time I had no job at all. Eventually I moved in with my boyfriend in Surrey on the conviction that home was slowly killing me. This involved my first and lesser abandonment of Hazel. I still visited when I could she would come out to meet me and chirrup happily at the reunion. Once I found a job I would send money ‘for the cat’.

Over the next few years my mother’s ability to live alone declined drastically which led to its own series of unfortunate events involving law courts, social services, a duplicitous trip to Butlins and homelessness. To describe these events in detail is beyond the scope of this particular story and (in all likelihood) my abilities.

The end of it was my mother was eventually removed to a somewhat more stable living condition and I begged my elderly former neighbour to take in Hazel. Who, with an instinct for survival, had been spending ever increasing amounts of time at the neighbours house and developed a kind of friendship with their existing cat. My neighbour generously caved in the face of gentle emotional blackmail but her husband was less than enthusiastic about the addition of ‘that cat’ to their household. She promised she would send me updates on Hazel and I promised I would visit.

She kept her promise a great deal more faithfully than I kept mine. I did visit twice, on neither occasion was I entirely convinced Hazel remembered anything about me. But the texts continued pretty regularly every 6 months or so until April 2021. After that I didn’t hear anything at all.

Of course I could have called or texted myself to find out what had happened. I can’t truly explain why I didn’t. I suspect the answer is somewhere between ‘I thought it was too late’ and ‘I was afraid of what I might hear.’ By this point Hazel was, by cat standards, an old lady.

The first coincidence on the road that led to our reunion was that I looked up house prices in my hometown. There was no reason for me to do so, I lived elsewhere entirely and I was in fact looking to buy a house in a completely different part of the country. I was simply curious and, perhaps, looking for a chance to shrug despairingly at the price difference. However this random search turned up a familiar looking property. A thorough perusal of Rightmove and I was almost convinced it was the home of my aforementioned elderly neighbour. The house had been cleared of belongings which caused me a twinge of panic. My next step was to spend several days alternating between searching online obituaries and scanning the cats protection website but neither turned up any useful information. I also finally decided to send a text requesting information as to Hazel’s whereabouts. I received no response.

For several months the situation remained uneasily unresolved. The turning point came at 3am on Friday the 26th of August. I had stopped searching for online traces of Hazel until a bout of insomnia set me worrying again as to her fate. I once again brought up the local cat’s protection website and there miraculously was Hazel. She looked out mournfully from above a description which referred to her as ‘in need of a special home’ which I mentally translated as ‘fucking difficult’.

I concocted a garbled and occasionally dishonest appeal to Cats Protection for the return of my cat without checking with my housemate or, in fact, my fiancé. Said fiancé was rather startled to wake up to a text message simply informing him I had found Hazel and it took some work to convince him that yes, I was certain it was the same cat rather than a convincing lookalike.

The volunteer I spoke to was similarly dubious, firstly that I did indeed know that cat and secondly that I yes, would very much like her back again. Despite my many and varied concerns I encountered very little difficulty in arranging the return of Hazel from this point onwards. I offered to drive and collect her and drive and collect her I did. She seemed to be waiting when I arrived and consented to be pushed into a cat carrier with very little protest to the surprise of everyone around her.

For the first week or two I was unsure if she recognised me, she followed both me and my fiancé about with a touching neediness but she also cried at night and responded to over effusive petting with pointed ferocity. But then one day I walked into the room and she sat up and gave a little chirrup. It was a little muffled as if she’d forgotten how to make such a sound but I recognised in it her former warm greeting.

I am now almost certain she recognises me as her old friend and betrayer. She sleeps soundly on my chest at night and looks mournfully after me when I leave in each morning.