Over The Hills and Far Away

I enter my laptop password: "Philomena18." I enter my email password: "Philomena18." I enter my actors‘ platform password: "Philomena18." I enter my savings account password: "Philomena18." I enter my encrypted document sheet password: "Philomena18" and I start writing:

What could possibly come closest to describing the precious thing that Philomena has been for me? Only a homage will do. So, that is what I am going to write here, a love story. This is how she steered my life in a totally new direction. How I became courageous and grew into something I would have never expected because of her.

I grew up in a small village, she was born on a nearby farm. The endless fields of corn and wheat are still vivid in my memories. As children we used to make the farmers angry by hiding in the fields, ripping off the plant leaves to get to the tasty fruits inside. The unripe little corns had a sweet taste with which we filled our bellies. As we left —with a complete mess in our wake—we could hear the farmers ranting and moaning.

One day a friend told me they had new litter of little kittens. “And if nobody takes them,” her mother said, “they will need to be taken away”. “Away? What does that mean?,” I said. “They will be taken to the river“, my friend answered. To the river. I didn’t understand what that meant, but when I heard it I started feeling unwell. I talked to my mother, begged for permission to take one of them, and promised I would assume all the responsibility without question. “Okay, you can at least have a look and see if there is one you fall in love with,” she said jokingly. And surely enough it did happen.

When I visited the farm, we went up to the hayloft, crossing the cowshed. The place stank. In the middle of the attic, with wooden pillars in the cracked wooden floor, a big black mother cat was making herself noticeable in the haystack. Lying on her back, she was showing off her belly and nipples and was surrounded by whining little blind mice, or so it seemed. “No, no these are the lil' kittens,” my friend said. I was shocked. These helpless, defenseless creatures were the most worshiped animals in Egypt and considered gods in some cultures?! Unbelievable. “You wanna hold one, if you like,” my friend said. Before I could say anything I already had this little thing in my hand. It was the most active one, who found her way away from her mother’s belly, exploring the area, and doing so blindly as she still had gunk in her eyes. All of a sudden, she calmed. I didn't dare to move, I actually held my breath, that's how fragile she seemed to me. Here was this little thing that could hardly reach my fingers with her tiny little paws. You have to understand, I was not older than 11 at the time. And now: she was opening her eyes and looking straight at mine. It was clear. 11, that was the number of years we would have together. We would be together for the rest of her life and share our hearts with one another.

She moved in and after a couple of months she came into her looks. Ohh - she was beautiful, and so unique! Of course, everyone says that about their little stray, but in this instance, it was simply true. Let me explain. She was white as snow, red as blood, and black as ebony. Her face was white as snow, really, and even more beautiful than that were her big green eyes that were emphasized by a long black line painted at the corner like kohl. Her ears were perfectly divided in the middle: half white and half blood red. Then there was her beautiful nose, which also had a little red dot. At first it seemed like she had not finished eating yet, until it later grew into her beauty spot. And then there was her fur. Oh, it was all black like ebony. Some of it streaked by this flame-like red. She was on fire! I don't know if you knew but having all four colors means that the cat brings good luck. So to finish it up: there was also a little gray. She was not only a good luck cat, but a beautiful one. She didn't know that yet, but that would change soon.

My home was also hers now. She loved the long hallways, the terracotta-colored tiles, the high wardrobes, and the staircase where she could quickly chase a ball that fell down or one of the spiders that tried to escape from her. Her favorite spot was on the tan balcony, overlooking the expansive fields and the garden pond with the fish and the flying birds above her. Always ready to jump. Or so it seemed. She was really curious, but also too clever to risk her life. Soon this whole area was to become hers, but for now she was too young to go outside. If she didn’t catch anything from there, she easily found herself another activity. Usually when I got home from school and sat down on the writing desk, about to do some homework, she placed herself on the shelf next to me, watching carefully. In the beginning it was distracting, her big green eyes observing me. Always up for something new. And there was me sitting, not understanding a thing about the math formulas on the page in front of me. Being watched. I would have loved to stare out the window myself or do something more meaningful than throwing numbers around. The shelf was full of books but also little objects like shells from Ireland, wild boar bristles from Italy’s deepest woods where my family is from, stones, statues and other things. It looked quite picturesque with her there. I turned back to my homework. Down the line a statue I made would be there too. It was made of clay and was the size of her tiny kitten self when she fit my hand—a statue of my Philomena. A nicely painted one in her four colors. Bam! I looked up. Something fell to the floor. Philo was already tapping another stone towards the end of the shelf. Some seconds later it fell over the shelf´s edge. Boom! There it laid on the floor next to the other stone. And so it went, another round: her innocently watching. Who threw my favorite antique little knife on the floor? I didn’t have to ask that question. She was too immensely cute. That was when I fell in love with her for the second time.

Even though she was going to be able to go outside soon, I learned that some things would never change. And that she didn’t do this out of boredom. She would never be bored by sitting next to me, while I was working. Whether it was homework, drawing, or reading, where she sometimes forbade me from turning the page. She found herself a favorite hobby. I enjoyed everyday life with her. It didn’t take long and she slowly moved up from sleeping at the end of my bed, to sleeping beside me, to sleeping on my pillow. To be precise: my face. Her paws would touch my cheek, at least. But I didn’t mind because it felt like a hug. I didn’t need an alarm anymore. My classmates often asked me if everything was okay at home and I would respond that it was, a bit annoyed. It was only when I looked in the mirror that I realized what they meant.

The mirror. This cold smooth object was a turning point in Philomena’s young life. I was told cats could not recognize themselves in the mirror. And there it was: a mission, exploring the abilities of how far she could go. So we started. In the middle of the first-floor hallway there was a large pier glass, perfectly suitable for our experiment. She used to walk around there with her tail up in the air, touching the walls and the heater with her soft nose, curiously looking around. Now she was in my arms as I approached the mirror. Slowly. She stared at me, knowing that this time it was me who was exploring something new. The sunlight reflected on the flat surface of the mirror, much like a window, making it look like a moving oasis. As we neared it, our appearance felt unreal even to me. It was like another side of the world, something magical. I pointed in its direction. It was the only thing that could objectively answer the question: "How do I look?" Her eyes followed my finger as I said “that’s you.” I actually regret that I decided to hold her in my arms. Her fur, every single hair strand, stood up when she met her own eyes. Hissing and crying out loud, she dug her claws into my bare arms and was gone within a second. Ouch! I screamed. Blood ran down my shoulders. Not much, but enough to get upset. I sat down right where I was. Angry and injured, I was mad at myself at my own naivete and started to let go of wanting to be more innovative than any cat researcher. I was cross with myself, because I thought that if anybody could do it, Philo would have been the one. A little bird was singing outside. Suddenly I saw her appearing behind me. She looked at me, and then at the mirror, where my double sat. She looked back at me again. Tense silence. Through the mirror I was able to watch her and what seemed like her thoughts as well. She was still uneasy, but she searched and found shelter in my lap. The fur relaxed and she did not turn her gaze back at me, surprisingly. Bravely and slowly, her gaze met my eyes. In the mirror! I could read her thoughts: “I think I know what you are trying to show me, my love.” And then I slowly saw her head moving towards her own eyes. I felt the tension rising in her little body. But she stayed. Courageous. Searching for footing in my gaze again and then getting up to walk towards her reflection. Carefully, observing her counterpart, she slowly sat onto her bum. Staring, then lifting her paw, and slowly tapping her own image. My eyes lit up; the tears had dried. “Yes, my love, that is you,” she felt supported by my glance. I couldn’t believe it. This little creature was exploring something totally new to her species. Perhaps. What a lesson she has taught me. If you really want it, you can do anything. Philo put her paw down and just watched it in the mirror, placing it next to her other one.

The upcoming weeks set the records straight. Whenever I passed the hallway, who was sitting there or walking by, accidentally watching herself? Yes, it didn’t take long for the amazing project to make Philomena not only proud but also vain. She knew now who the most beautiful cat was. Even her walk and behavior changed after this experience, there was something royal to it. With this newly gained self-confidence, it was easy for her to take over the whole area by force as soon as she was allowed to go outside freely. Sometimes when I slept alone, when she decided to stay away for the night, I could hear violent cat fights outside. Then in the dawn, a shadow would appear at the end of my bed, licking her paw. Her father was a wild cat, and those genes were making themselves known now.

Since we didn’t get to catch up so much during the day anymore, she started lying under the bed sheet on top of my chest, her belly warming mine. This became our new favorite sleeping position, it was like a comforting hug. She grew really fast. Many thought she was a male: "Because of her large head.” I was worried. If Philo were to find out about this talk behind her back, she would be annoyed. “Don’t let her know, that you think only male cats have large heads and females should have smaller ones.” To be honest, I didn’t get their criticism either, but somehow it explained her power in the wild fields and why she caused all cats to flee, regardless of whether they were male or female. Once she was gone for three whole days. What a long way she must had been traveling. Even though I was worried, I imagined her strolling through the bushes, catching up with a friend, experiencing adventures and overlooking the fields from the top of a tree. Where we grew up, it was all flat like a steppe. Nevertheless, she became the Queen of the Cats in this small village. I just hoped she would come back home safe and sound, and she did. This happened only once. I think she could sense my worries, and I was happy about that.

When I was 15 years old, I had to change schools and so we moved for the first time. From the small village we went to a larger city now in the middle of Germany. The city life. I had to prepare myself for my high school exams and started to work in bars and restaurants, while she was bound to a smaller area. The backyard of a cozy flat was now her hunting ground. We reconnected at night-time and shared our experiences of the day as we fell to sleep, both exhausted. What I did not know was that she had snuck out, jumped over the roofs and walls, and explored the neighbors’ backyards. I got concerned when one night I heard a bad cat fight outside and Philo was not in her spot. My stomach felt her absence and my mind was racing a mile a minute. Where was she, is she having battles in other backyards? I didn’t question her abilities, but I thought: the big city - cats probably form gangs in their backyards, mafia-clans. I couldn’t sleep, so I put on my slippers and wandered outside in my pyjamas. The cobblestones, concrete walls, and garage shutters were only illuminated by the moonlight. "Philo! Philomouse!" I desperately tried to see something in the dark. A cat was hissing, crying. It was her voice! Something limped towards me, but I was not able to move, I was in a state of tense awareness. After a fraction of a second, I could see her face shining at me. The white color of her face. In the cold night I hurried to approach her in my slippers, when she jumped into my arms. I took her in carefully, wrapped her up, heated some milk, and watched her slowly drink. She was hurt, her left ear was torn and her colored fur mingled with real red blood. She looked at me sadly and I kissed her forehead. "Everything’s going to be fine, my love,” I reassured her. That night she held on to me very tightly. Held by me as I carefully stroked her head, she was able to fall asleep and get some good rest in the warmth we created.

After that incident she was not keen on her nocturnal outings anymore. I felt guilty about ripping her out of her beloved fields. After a rough evening of me trying to drown my sorrows with poisonous drinks, I just laid down on the floor staring at the ceiling, trying to make it stop turning. Philo appeared. I felt ashamed, but she was just hovering around me meowing, concerned. She rubbed her soft fur against my cheek, trying to get me on my feet again. When Philo realized she wasn’t going to be successful, she climbed on my belly and just hugged me. Despite all the shame I felt, she gave me that feeling of being home. I put my arms around her. We took care of one another as friends, silently supporting one another with our sheer presence. We both felt that this city didn’t welcome us. On the next day I had this strange gut feeling and went up the gray staircase of the apartment building. There was an open window on the clapboard of the third floor. I was shocked, Philo was on the wrong side of the window. She was afraid, realizing what she had gotten herself into, trying to hold on by using her claws, she noticed me. The shingles didn't welcome her claws at all. She started skidding towards the end of the ledge, while her eyes were piercing through my paralyzed body. One squeal. “Help me!” It was like an automatic reaction, my hand rushed forward, grabbed her fur, and pulled this little shaking body towards mine. For a while we just sat there on that cold, unfamiliar staircase, me holding her tight to my chest. Her heartbeat was racing and so was mine. We were both scared to death. We chased those evil thoughts out of our heads, our hearts swelled, and all of a sudden, a lightning hit our minds. We needed to leave.

Back in the safe flat, I sat down on the bed, lost in my thoughts. Philomena was wandering around. There was something about this large head of hers. She made her own decisions. Heavy clouds of depressing thoughts returned. The whole situation, the reason why we needed to be ripped out of our home, everything weighed me down. No prospects. Suddenly Philo tapped on the floor: she found a shadow.

The little lamp was on and watching her made me want to follow my intuition. Being as playful as a child. She caught the shadow of my finger and was ready to jump to wherever she wished. I observed her great awareness. Not only did she bring hope in my heart and distract me from my thoughts, but she actually gave me so much more. This time it was me who found my calling. With Philo’s help, I was accepted at an art school in another country and studied what was to become my profession. Uplifts. We wanted to leave as soon as possible. That was certain. The delicate situation was to get her a passport in time. I am not kidding, both of us were in need of a new passport. If we followed the official regulations, it would have taken us another two weeks. We needed to find a solution. “It’s okay, let’s go, we’ve been through more, we can face this. Everything is going to be fine!” She encouraged me and so I arranged a moving van for our things. Before we approached the border police, she hid under the driver’s seat. I sat there, cool and relaxed, or I tried to make that impression, at least. A stern looking man in a tight uniform with the Swiss flag on his shoulders came toward us. His hair was covered under this straight cap. I could barely see him because he was too small, and I was seated too high in the truck: “Do you have your papers and passport with you, lady?” He asked. “Sure, no problem,” I answered. I handed over the documents and he looked at them, mumbling something incomprehensible. “How nice! You are moving to an amazing area, behind the hills. You will enjoy it.” He looked up and now I could see a friendly face with chubby cheeks. But then he got serious again, “Is no one traveling with you?” Philo was making no sound whatsoever, holding her breath. “No. If you want, you can have a look in the back. Do you think somebody is hiding under my seat?” His eyes narrowed, leaning forward, looking at me seriously. His face relaxed and he started to grin: “Haha, of course not! Enjoy your ride! And greet my fatherland. Ade!” Phew. I laughed: “With pleasure! Merci.” I shifted gears, stepped on the gas pedal, and away we were. “Meow!”, Philo listened closely and got out of her hiding place and there we were, in front of the hills. This was our new home. We smiled at each other, knowing good times were ahead.

What beautiful times! We arrived at our new flat. It was on the ground floor and through a large glass window we could see an amazing park, an extension of our new home. I was hearing the screams of other cats besides Philo again! She prowled around her area. Large trees. Her hill, which she now stood on. Majestically overlooking the area that she took care of. She would chase butterflies or bring us dinner home. I would just see feathers everywhere in the kitchen, and then recognize a bird lying in the middle of it. “Thank you, what an honor,” if I had used other words, there would have been a huge fight. I said it with pleasure. It was a good life. Safe and sound.

But all good stories have to come to an end, and we also had to face that chapter of letting each other go. “Three months, that’s it. It is growing too fast.” Philo hated doctors. Another thing we had in common. And sometimes they are also wrong, I had two more years with her. She conquered a whole new country. And she was giving me the same strength. She said wise words in those long talks we had now, when she looked back on her life, thanking me a lot for all I did for her. “It’s nothing compared to what you gave me.” That was the only thing that came out of my mouth. And we sat there silently in a new country and made it our own. Philomena fell into her eternal sleep on the bed in our favorite position. A quiet meow. Her belly warmed mine, and her head slowly sank heavily on my chest and stayed there. “I love you”. I stayed awake. For hours my eyes filled itself up with tears over and over again. “I love you too”.

Sometimes there are no words and there is just silence.

Now she is sleeping in the middle of nature under a tree, next to the river in what became her homeland behind the hills: 11 years old, 7 lives, and way more than alive! Forever remaining happily ever after in my heart. Her soft nose touching mine. It is Philo who makes me want to explore new fields and start conquering them. Whenever I feel as small as a mouse, I start stroking any stone that lies in the way, like Philo always did. Bang! and all the tension is gone within a second. Remembering that these "mice-like" creatures do grow to become the most worshiped ones.