ON THE COVER The Cat Who
Sees With His Heart
My shift had only just started when I felt the pounding ache of a headache coming on. I felt giddy and had to grab on to the wall in the hospital corridor.
I was a paediatric nurse. I specialised in end-of-life care and my work meant so much to me, but lately I was struggling to concentrate through splitting headaches.
Then I started having seizures and I lost sensation
down my left side. Tests began and sadly, in 2011, I was diagnosed with a brain tumour.
At first, I was told I had 18 months to live. I had to retire early as the seizures meant it wasn’t safe for me to carry on.
I had surgery, followed by chemotherapy and steroids to keep the tumour from growing. Miraculously, if the medication worked I could hope to outlive the initial prognosis for as long as the tumour remained stable.
In between all the hospital appointments, it was important to me that my life still had meaning. I enjoyed running my own cat rescue centre, Bradford Cat Watch Rescue, at home.
Over time, my mission evolved. I cared for the cats no one else loved. Cats with profound disabilities, three legs, one eye or paralysis. I built a reputation as the rescue centre for cats who would otherwise be put to sleep. It’s a hospice for cats. I rescue and rehome as many as 500 a year, all with different disabilities.
Two years ago, Carrots was found behind a fence, just a few weeks old. He had one eye missing and the other had ruptured. I didn’t think he’d survive, but he was a fighter. He had surgery to remove the ruptured eye and sew up his eye sockets.
Despite his traumatic start, Carrots’ personality shone. He was sweet and loving, always keen for a cuddle. But he seemed to sense who in the room most needed attention, seeking them out and nestling in their lap.
A few months after Carrots arrived in my life, an occupational therapist who worked across Marie Curie hospices called me. She had a ppatient facing end of life decisions who was distressed about what would happen to her cat. I asked if I could visit and bring Carrots. “He’s a good ice-breaker,” I said.
While I promised I’d look after her cat, Carrots did an excellent job of soothing her just by being himself.
On the way home, I started thinking about all the patients who must have cats in need of help at this critical crossroads. I wanted to help alleviate their worry about what would happen to their cats after they’re gone.
And so Meowie Curie was born – Marie Curie patients who own cats and are facing the end of their lives can rest assured we will find their cat a new, happy home. Patients are reassured to know their cats will be loved and I sit with them for a long time discussing their cat’s needs and personality, so they know we see their cat as an individual.
“I wanted to alleviate patients’ worries about their cats after they’d gone”