Cyclops Day

I fell in love with a cat in Athens. I couldn't take him home, so I decided to memorialize him with a day.

Warning: This is a personal, and slightly emotional/raw post about a cat. There is absolutely nothing about data protection here, so if cats aren’t your jam, you might want to skip this one.

In late November 2019, Husbot and I were in Athens, Greece, staying in a beautiful apartment with a direct view of the Acropolis (as you do).

Greece, as you may know, is teeming with cats. Most are community cats—semi-wild things that live outside, but are well-fed and cared for by the local community. Greece is actually better than most places. Most of the strays are spayed and fairly healthy. And as anyone who’s read more than one of my blog posts knows, I am rather fond of cats. Athens was, in a word, my Disneyland.

So many of these cats are used to humans. They hang around in the restaurants, loiter near the shops, and haunt all the tourist areas. They know that a good percentage of humans are suckers like me and will take pity on them, feed them, and love on them, even if only for a few moments.

Honestly, if I had to be an outdoor kitty, I would want to be in Athens.

On November 25, David/Husbot and I decided after a long day of sightseeing to visit the Acropolis proper (thanks Husbot, for the memory check). Cats were of course, everywhere, and I had brought along a bag of food to attract a few friends for what I figured would be a relaxing hour or so petting kitties.

And then I met a cat that totally wrecked me.

Cyclops, the sweetest orange and white one-eyed kitty you’ve ever seen.

He was mostly white, with a little orange mask of fur, and an orange and white tail and markings. He was bedraggled, skinny, and had the saddest little kitty frown. And importantly, he’d lost an eye. But to me, he was perfect and I instantly fell in love.

And he fell in love with me. He ignored the food I brought, and within ten minutes, had crawled up my arm looking to be held. I rarely pick up cats, but this cat had an agenda: he wanted to be treated like the sweet, floofy baby he was.

This soft orange and white kitty had my number.

I don’t know why he chose me. Maybe he did this with all the tourists who had ‘cat dork’ on their faces. Maybe he realized I was missing my cats. Maybe the Cat Distribution System had sent out the Cat Signal. I don’t know. All I know was that for the next three hours, he was my baby. And because we had gotten along so well, I realized he needed a name. Given the location, and his single eye, I dubbed him Cyclops.

He liked me holding him close. I have so many pictures of this cat you guys. I am trying to pick the best ones.

He decided my lap was the best place to be. For an hour.

At some point, as the sun began to set, I had to don my jacket, and disturb my sleeping kitty. Surely, I figured this would annoy him enough to get up and go on with his business. But I was wrong. As soon as I was settled, he climbed into my arms and eventually crawled inside the jacket for warmth.

Look at that face.

I sat with him. When that was uncomfortable, I walked around the park with him, contemplating what to do. He slept, warm on my chest, purring softly. Two hours in, I thought about taking him to a vet, but as I lacked a carrier I realized that would be logistically challenging. Plus, the local vets were all closed.

Three hours in, I started discussing the possibility of taking him back to Ireland. I couldn’t leave this sweet baby, who had made his way into my heart. But David, ever patient, ever reasonable, reminded me that we were leaving in less than two days, and getting cats into Ireland is deeply challenging. You need vet certifications, and vaccinations, a pet passport, and to arrange a flight. Most likely, he would have needed to be in quarantine for weeks. Not impossible, but it’s not easy, cheap, or without trauma to the cat. At the time, we were in a small, cramped apartment with two cats already. It simply wasn’t practical. Importantly, David reminded me that Cyclops had made his home in Greece, and he probably had loads of people taking care of him.

But he didn’t know that, and it felt like a betrayal. Here, I’d bonded with this innocent, sweet kitten. He deserved a home. He deserved love, and affection, and proper veterinary care. He deserved a better life. And I was the asshole who was leaving him behind.

I stayed with him as long as I could, but eventually, we had to leave the park for dinner. I had to say goodbye, and I was gutted. I sobbed like a five year old, and convinced myself that we would see him again the next day.

But when we went back, he was gone. I told myself that maybe he’d found himself someone who wasn’t a bad person, someone who hadn’t abandoned him, who could take him in and give him the love he deserved. Truthfully, I was sad for the rest of the trip, but at some point, David suggested that the best way to get through this was to think about him every November 25. And that’s what we’ve done ever since. We marked it on the calendar even.

Today is Cyclops Day. As I do for every Cyclops Day, I spend time with cats. Usually our own cats. But sometimes, when I’m gone, I go out of my way to find other cats, lavish attention on them, and think about the cat I had to leave behind. Fortunately, Madeira does not disappoint, and the western coast of Madeira seems to be absolutely teeming with cats to lavish attention (and treats) on. And they all seemed to know I was celebrating Cyclops Day and they decided to celebrate with me.

I met seven cats today. They were particularly interested in cat treats, but also, I want to imagine they were keen for some love and attention. Maybe Cyclops let them know it was his special day. I don't know.

I still miss that cat. Some five years in. I hope he’s ok.