My love affair with cats started when my father gave me a ginger-and-white male kitten. I called him Tom-Tom. It was love at first sight. I was only three years old then. Can people really remember things from that age? I believe they can, especially when the memory is tied to love.
My father was stationed in Tamparuli, a small town in Sabah, during the 1970s. He was in charge of the dispensary there and worked as a dresser. In those days, a dresser did almost everything a doctor or midwife would do.
He treated patients, prescribed medicine, set broken bones, stitched wounds, and even delivered babies. In fact, my elder brother was delivered by my father himself at the dispensary. He was a huge baby, nearly ten pounds, and my mother almost died from severe bleeding during childbirth. Thankfully, my father managed to stop the bleeding and saved her life.
The following year, I came along. However, my father did not want to take any more risks, so I was delivered at Queen Elizabeth Hospital II in Kota Kinabalu. According to my mother, I arrived two months early because she slipped in the bathroom. Even now, she likes to joke that I was in too much of a hurry to see the world.
But back to Tom-Tom and me.
We were inseparable. My mother was not pleased about it. She was a clean freak and thought animals were unhygienic. My father, on the other hand, believed children should be exposed to nature and animals to build strong immunity and character. Because of him, our home was almost like a small farm. We had dogs, chickens, ducks, turkeys, tortoises, and even a racing pony that eventually had to be kept elsewhere after it bit my brother.
My brother and I spent most of our childhood outdoors. We played in muddy puddles, chased chickens around the compound, and got covered in dirt from head to toe. Yet we were happy. There were no smartphones, computer games, or fancy gadgets to keep us entertained. The natural world was our playground, and every day felt like an adventure.
Still, among all the animals we had, cats remained closest to my heart.
What fascinated me most about cats was their mysterious nature. Their crystal-like eyes always seemed capable of seeing the future. Their silky fur brought a strange comfort that words could never explain.
That does not mean I disliked dogs. My first dogs were Hunter and Judy, loyal guard dogs that unfortunately attacked our neighbours’ chickens. Back then, most people allowed animals to roam freely. We failed to control them properly, and eventually both dogs were poisoned by disgruntled neighbours.
I still remember the sadness I felt after their deaths. As I grew older, however, I realised the tragedy was not really the dogs’ fault. We were to blame. Their deaths became one of my earliest lessons about responsibility.
Tom-Tom, however, was a completely different creature.
He grew into a huge tomcat who ruled the neighbourhood like a king. Any male cat that dared enter his territory would face his wrath. Fights often broke out at night, accompanied by terrifying screeches and growls that echoed across the neighbourhood. Yet despite his fierce reputation, he was always gentle with me.
Whenever I sat down, he would find his way onto my lap. At night, he curled beside me like a furry pillow. His purring was so loud you could feel the vibrations from ten feet away. To me, he was not only my pet. He was part of my childhood.
Since Tom-Tom was not allowed indoors, my mother would chase him away whenever he tried to sneak into the house. She hated finding cat fur on the bedsheets. But I was a determined child. Many nights, I secretly smuggled him into my bedroom, tucked him under the blanket beside me, and pretended to be asleep. In my childish mind, I thought I had outsmarted my mother.
Of course, mothers usually know more than they let on.
One evening, my father announced that his stint at the dispensary had come to an end. I was upset. To a child, leaving a home behind felt like losing an entire world. I worried most about my furry and feathered friends, especially Tom-Tom.
The day we packed our belongings, Tom-Tom wandered around the house curiously, rubbing himself against my legs as if he knew something was wrong. I hugged him tightly, begging my parents to bring him with us, but in those days, people did not think much about their pets. Animals were often left behind to adapt on their own.
As our car drove away, I looked back and saw Tom-Tom sitting quietly by the roadside, watching us leave. That image has stayed with me for decades.
Today, when I think about Tom-Tom, Hunter, Judy, and all the animals from my childhood, I realise they taught me far more than companionship. They taught me about loyalty, loss, love, and responsibility.
Pets are not mere novelties. They depend entirely on humans for safety, care, food, and affection. Responsible pet ownership means vaccinating them, feeding them properly, keeping them safe, and ensuring they do not become a danger or nuisance to others. It also means committing to them for life, even when circumstances change.
Animals give us unconditional love. In return, they deserve owners who will protect and care for them responsibly. Even after all these years, whenever I see a ginger-and-white cat, I still remember Tom-Tom — the king of cats and the little companion who first taught me what love truly meant.
