Freja’s Cat

He is no longer with us. The first few weeks, we kept hoping to catch him weaving between our legs. Whenever we came back home to our building, we scanned the courtyard, expecting to find him waiting for us with that look of mild reproach he had when it was a little past his dinnertime. I am still reeling from his loss and feel almost land sick, as though I just came off a ship after a long sea voyage. After nearly 16 years in our lives, he was a greater part of the family than I could ever have imagined. It is one month since his death and I am barely starting to adjust to the idea of walking the earth without him.

After nearly 16 years in our lives, he was a greater part of the family than I could ever have imagined.

Freemousse, our large Norwegian Forest Cat, was handsome as a lynx, his coat thick enough to withstand the harsh winters of the Scandinavian wilds. It was the usual story. A little girl wanted a kitten, but her parents tried their best to stand firm. Then, when she was ten, our daughter Freja wore us down with her talents of persuasion. And so, we spent a whole summer looking for a kitten to bring home with us.

Eventually we found a litter of six kittens and any lingering doubts we might still have had quickly evaporated as Freemousse and Freja made a beeline for each other.

And so, we spent a whole summer looking for a kitten to bring home with us.

When Freemousse came into our lives, he was just a small ball of fur with large Dumbo ears that seemed to have grown faster than his body. But it wasn’t long before he towered over Freja when stood on his hind legs.

Although very cuddly, he had a rather haughty manner and there was a time when we wondered whether Freja would be able to handle a 7-kilo feline that was as tall as she was. Fortunately, our fears proved unfounded. Freemousse settled for the role of a four-legged younger brother, allowing Freja to dress him up like a cuddly toy, while also knowing how to walk away when he had enough. We all fell under his spell, and it soon became clear that he was the heart of the family.

Although very cuddly, he had a rather haughty manner.

Freemousse got used to splitting his time between our Paris flat and our old house in Brittany, where he was left free to roam the gardens of the neighbourhood. He knew the train journey by heart and would fall asleep inside his extra-large travel bag, a stowaway on the TGV overhead luggage rack. One day, we nearly lost him – we were still learning how to cohabit with a cat when that happened. It was in Brittany, on a Sunday afternoon, and Freemousse was still missing when the time had come to go to the station. I can still remember my anxiety, knowing I could not afford to miss my train: I had to be in Denmark on the Monday morning for an important meeting that could not be rescheduled. In the end, Freja and I had to leave without the cat. I can still see us crying on the train all the way back to Paris.

One day, we nearly lost him – we were still learning how to cohabit with a cat when that happened.

Very early the next day, on my way to the airport, I kept wondering what had happened to Freemousse and worrying about Freja’s distress when she would wake up. But then a miracle happened: when Freja came back from school at lunchtime, she found Freemousse on his cat tree, waiting for her in his usual spot in the hallway of the flat. It was all thanks to Pierre. He had been on his way to a week of work in Italy when he had heard that we had left for Paris without the cat. Turning back in Lyon, where he was scheduled to take a connecting flight, he had jumped into another plane to return to Brittany.

When he got back to the house late that Sunday night, the cat had not come home yet. The next day, however, he was awoken by a familiar early morning meow. Our explorer was famished but otherwise safe and sound. After feeding him a bowl of kibble, they took the first TGV for Paris, and Pierre returned the cat to the flat before dashing off to the airport and his Italian colleagues. All was well that ended well, and after that incident, Freemousse never ignored our calls again.

This morning I found a toy that Freemousse used to love, a fishing rod with a ball of fake feathers at the end of the line. On a good day, he would leap up like a tiger, as though to catch an imaginary prey. A tear ran down my cheek. I thought I had already put all his things away. But you cannot erase such a long history in a few weeks. It will take us longer to process his loss.

But you cannot erase such a long history in a few weeks.

Why is a cat’s life so short? Because of his nine lives? Well-intentioned friends try to comfort us by telling us that 16 years is a good innings for a large cat. True, but he grew up with Freja, and his life ended just as she entered adulthood. Nothing prepared us for this genetic injustice.

Nothing prepared us for this genetic injustice.  

What a character you were, Freemousse! And how good you were at making yourself understood and appreciated! You knew everything that was going on in our building and trained all the residents to stop and pet you whenever they saw you. In Brittany, you were the leader of the pack of cats that met every night under the cars parked on the square outside the house, and ever since you left us, these cats have been crying out for you, in vain. You forged individual connections with every single one of Freja’s friends and were such a fixture of the village that we felt compelled to post a sign on our gate about your passing.

All these years, your presence in our midst felt almost preordained. How else to understand the troubling echoes between our daughter’s name and yours? Born in Saint-Malo, city of pirates, in the year when pedigree cat names had to start with an “F”, the cattery had called you Freemousse (pronounced “freemoose”) conjuring a free-spirited young sailor (free mousse). As for our daughter, she was named after the Nordic goddess Freja, but we had always called her by the Danish diminutive “Frejamus”, pronounced “frayamoose”. Years later we discovered that popular illustrations of the goddess Freja often represent her standing on a chariot drawn by Norwegian Forest Cats.

All these years, your presence in our midst felt almost preordained.

When you left us, it gave me comfort to lean in on the symbolism of your presence in our family. Were you an avatar of the goddess Freja, come on this earth to support our daughter when she needed you? And did you just deem your mission accomplished, satisfied to see her grown into a responsible young adult? Had the time come for you to climb back onto your celestial chariot?

Had the time come for you to climb back onto your celestial chariot?

Your memory lives on in our hearts. The pretty little box that holds your ashes will soon lie under one of the olive trees in your favourite garden. And when at night I look up at the north star, I will think of you, and perhaps glimpse your chariot shooting through the sky like the shining star you were in our lives

And when at night I look up at the north star, I will think of you.