JoJo Was born on the streets. Spent probably a whole day and night there on a dirty road in İzmir, what hell she must have gone through. “Good grief, it was only ONE night!!!” pleads my wife. “How would you like to spend a night on the streets, cold and abandoned?” She turns and walks away in shame or desperation.
JoJo was spotted by The Adams family, with a cruel child who screamed when the headlights caught Jo Jo’s green eyes. “Mine mine, mummy, mine mine.” Within no time JoJo was kidnapped, bundled into the car to spend the rest of her life as a captive of that child.
We of course knew none of this or how our paths and paws would cross very soon.
The first sound was a little squeak in next door garden and the shrill of a child grabbing her like a toy. In the evening, we heard the cries of the little kitten left alone in the garden and after a little deliberation, we brought her into the house, and let her go in the morning. This continued for a number of days, with her running into our arms at dusk each time. Until, we noticed the family packing their car to go on holiday. “What about the kitten? “It will be fine,” replied the uncaring family. As soon as they left, we took her in. On their return, we made it clear JoJo was now ours. The little child wanted to play with her, my wife supervised contact like an armed guard, the slightest movement towards her was greeted with “NOOOOO.” She lost interested and we had officially acquired another cat.
She fitted into our family, even our grumpy old black and white cat took her under her wings. She would rest on my stomach and I would chat with her about everything in me and the world for hours on end each day. At times she would look up and I was sure she understood. We kept her as a house cat; she was small and very vulnerable.
In the evenings she sat with us watching TV, glaring at series or trying to catch the football on the screen.
Each night at 7pm we watched the news. One night (a few years later) it was becoming more and more distressing; people were struggling, JoJo glared at the screen at people’s desperation to make ends meet and… “She’s crying!“ I said. “What do you mean, she’s a cat?” “Look, there’s a tear in her eyes.” “That’s just a cat thing.”
(At this juncture I have to explain that JoJo Rabbit (to give her full name) is a white and grey cat with hint of ginger mischievousness. She is the kindest and most intelligent cat I have ever known. If I am hurt, she runs to me and is in general over sensitive to everything that is around her, especially if it is unfamiliar to her. So, in a way I was not surprised when she cried. Now back to the story.)
That evening we were woken up to one hell of racket, we ignored it for some time but eventually I walked into the kitchen. Food was spread out all over the floor. She looked up and said give this to them, clearly in cat talk but I sort of understood. My wife walked in. “She is so naughty.” “No, she isn’t, she wants to give the food to poor.” “Oh, so she’s not a cat anymore, she’s Mahatma Gandhi!” “You don’t understand…” My words tailing off behind her.
The following night at 7pm JoJo hopped on the sofa; I was sure she had changed the channel to the news. By contrast to yesterday’s news a giant building was shown lavished in riches; mountains of food and gold cutlery. JoJo hissed at the TV and ran round and round the TV to see if she could catch them. Then she stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes big and wide. “Are you planning something?” I said inquisitively. She didn’t hear, she was deep in thought.
(DRM/VC)
