Memory of Our Little Heart
Our happiness was called Iron. On August 8, 2020, a friend sent a photo of Iron’s biological mother with three little tails and said: we have a new addition. I think I immediately realized that the shape of his ears, paws, and the pattern of his stripes would fit perfectly with me into our family.
D-Day. I held Iron in my arms for the first time and realized that my love for him was boundless. He meowed loudly, of course, looking for his biological mother. But no matter how hard it was to separate them, we went home.
Iron was quite the little mischief. He turned the entire apartment upside down. And the funniest part — he always watched my reaction. It’s not surprising, as Iron saw me only in the mornings and evenings. He could do whatever he wanted. Did I ever scold him? Of course! And what did I get in return? A hint at the next challenge.
Iron’s eyes spoke. I understood everything: whether he was happy or sad, ready to play or worried, full of love or a mischievous “bite,” whether he accepted the situation in the apartment or was jealous of his little brother, the dog Rocky. Above all, I loved his eyes. His purr when my soul hurt, his little massages when tired after work, his neck, belly, and back scent, the veins on his paws, his unstoppable tail, his beautiful little nose, whiskers on the windowsill or sofa, fur on all our clothes…
Iron loved soft balls. You had to throw them as far as possible, and Iron would dash after them, performing flips. And most importantly — he always brought the ball back.
Iron loved walks very much. He hated the leash, but climbing a bench, tree, or bush, or chasing birds — that was his favorite. And most of all, he loved sitting on the shoulder like a pirate’s parrot. We could walk for hours this way. After his dog brother appeared, the games multiplied. Mortal Kombat is a kindergarten compared to their fights. But no blood. They truly loved each other.
Iron never ignored flowers. He would smell them for a long time, eat them, simply sit or lie near them, or knock over the vase — it all depended on his mood.
Another favorite activity of Iron’s, which left a lot of marks on our family members, was hand hunting. Always. Victory. Fangs. Iron’s were predatory. People often said he looked like a wild reed cat. We didn’t care whether our kitty was purebred or not, but it explained his urge to destroy :)
Iron had only one flaw: a sick little heart.
January 1, 2025, became the worst day for our family. In the morning, everything was fine. We played, ran around the apartment. My boyfriend and I were busy with our tasks, and Iron, as always, was running by the windows — after flies, birds, or sunbeams. And then the sound. Terrible, horrifying. My boyfriend ran and shouted my name in panic. I saw him holding completely relaxed Iron in his arms. Iron was still breathing. Panicking, we ran to the nearest vet clinic. My boyfriend ran ahead, and I ran behind, praying to everything in the world and beyond, asking Iron to live. I realized the clinic was closed. I ran up and saw my beloved eyes… Thromboembolism.
If anything has an end, it is not our love for our fluffy son. Can I say that Iron lived a good life? I think so. He felt safe with us, he trusted us. In stressful moments, he always ran to me and climbed into my arms, knowing I would protect him from everything scary. He would show his belly at the first chance to lie on his back. He always came to knead my neck or anything else. We always had a little contest — who would get Iron’s attention first or more.
Life with Iron and life without him are two different lives. Now it is hard. Now you wait for a “bite” and a meow. You wait for hugs and snuggles. You wait for the feeling of fullness in the atmosphere. Who knows, maybe one day we’ll dare to love someone else. But we will love Iron forever.
Our Airosaur, Ironator, our Iklan, our Little Heart, our Happiness. Our Iron Cat.
