Mao San'er: The Tragic Fate of a Siamese Cat

Mao San’er: The Tragic Fate of a Siamese Cat

Da Lin has a seal – point Siamese cat, which was given to him by a friend. In this family of six, including his parents, wife, and two sons under four years old, no one wanted to keep the cat. Only because of Da Lin’s insistence was the cat reluctantly allowed to stay.​

As the weather turned cold, the cat’s face became darker, almost blending into one mass, but it was still very beautiful. With light brown fur, blue eyes, and a well – proportioned skeleton, as an adult cat, it only weighed three or four pounds. If it could gain some more weight, it would surely be even more charming. The cat didn’t have a proper name. According to rural customs, everyone called it “Mao San’er”.​

Mao San’er’s belongings were very simple. A large bag of cat food costing less than 30 yuan, a large bag of bentonite cat litter, a stainless – steel food bowl, a large iron tray used as a litter box, and a shovel were all piled up in a corner of the bathroom. The litter box was shallow, and there wasn’t much cat litter inside. The unshoveled cat feces were clearly visible. The litter box was next to the food bowl, which had only a little cat food left. The small cat food pellets were of three colors, and it was hard to tell how long they had been there or if the cat had eaten them. The shovel was casually placed beside the food bowl. In the nearby corner, the cat food bag had an opening and was stacked on top of the cat litter bag. There was no dedicated water bowl, so Mao San’er drank water from the basin where Da Lin’s eldest son kept his turtle. It didn’t have a cat bed either and could only sleep beside the living – room stove or in the corner of the sofa near the stove. It was rare to see a cat so afraid of the cold. Da Lin’s mother often complained that the cat was too lazy, but Da Lin praised it, saying, “It’s not lazy at all. It even knows how to catch mice.”​

Sometimes, Da Lin would take out a pack of freeze – dried food that he bought at the supermarket for 11 yuan. Mao San’er loved it, but Da Lin only gave it one piece at a time. Once, a friend brought a sample pack of imported cat food, which also became a treat for Mao San’er. Mao San’er seemed to be very “sensible”. Da Lin’s son loved to play with the cat, and even though Mao San’er’s nails were never trimmed, it never scratched the child.​

When the weather wasn’t too cold, Mao San’er was rarely seen at home. First, there wasn’t much delicious food or fun things at home. Second, Da Lin’s three – year – old eldest son liked to mess with it. Moreover, it seemed to understand that the family didn’t like it very much. When it got in the way, it was simply pushed aside with a foot. So, it liked to go out for a stroll, coming in and out through the bathroom window. Living on the first floor, it was very convenient. Da Lin joked, “It’s great now. I don’t even need to shovel the cat litter anymore since it poops outside.” No one ever saw Mao San’er outside. Presumably, it was very alert. It was said that it would come back at night to eat some cat food. Once, it disappeared for several days, and no one went looking for it. Everyone secretly thought it wouldn’t come back, but in the end, it did. When it got cold, it rarely went out. As the Chinese New Year approached, with more meat dishes on the table, Mao San’er finally got to eat meat bones under the table.​

However, this is a sad story. Mao San’er got pregnant while out wandering. Its belly swelled, and it seemed about to give birth. One day, it was run over by a car in the residential area at the gate of the house, but the driver refused to admit it. When Da Lin found out, he was extremely angry and his head ached badly. He asked someone to retrieve the surveillance footage and reported the case to the police. Coincidentally, the police officer who came to mediate had kept pets before and knew the value of this Siamese cat. Finally, the driver compensated more than 2,000 yuan to settle the matter. Poor Mao San’er… After that, Da Lin’s son would always murmur, “Our Mao San’er is dead,” and then take my hand, saying, “Let’s go see your Boniu.”


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