The Warrior

Mucki was the result of an encounter between one of our wildcats from Schlossberg and a domestic cat. He was enormous, with an unusually thick head, and carried himself as the biggest, strongest, and most invincible of them all—and indeed, he was. None of the local toms could hold a candle to him.

My great-aunt Luisi, who lived nearby, became his surrogate mother. She had found him as a stray and raised him herself. And what a specimen he grew into! Much to her dismay, he was constantly on the move, often disappearing for days on end. During these absences, reports of terror and complaints from cat owners in our town and the surrounding villages piled up.

Dear Mucki (what an innocuous name for such a monster!) had a habit of helping himself to other cats’ food. He would invade their territory, thrash the resident tom within an inch of his life—sometimes fatally—and then devour his food. The females fared no better; he attacked them regardless of whether they were in heat or not. And young kittens? Best kept locked indoors. In short, he was a menace.

We shared a deep mutual antipathy. At home, he had claimed his spot in the right-hand corner of the kitchen bench. Whenever I visited my great-aunt, she would offer me a seat, and I would position myself as far from his malevolent green glare as possible. She always chuckled at my discomfort, but one thing was certain: there was no room for me beside that beast.

When Aunt Luisi was once again frantic over his prolonged absence, we discovered him in our garden. My mother called his “mum,” who arrived swiftly, armed with an enormous black bag with a sturdy handle. The moment Mucki spotted his human and the bag, he sensed trouble. His fur bristled, but he didn’t run.

Aunt Luisi reached for him and lifted him up. Instantly, the cat transformed into a fortress of fury. All four paws splayed wide, almost horizontal to his body, claws fully extended, fur standing on end like spikes, ears flattened, teeth bared, hissing loudly, his eyes flashing red and green—he looked like a creature straight from hell. My brave mother held the bag open as wide as possible, and with great effort, the snarling grey-black demon was stuffed inside, despite his violent resistance.

Success! The bag was quickly sealed, and together, Aunt Luisi and my mother lugged the raging monster up the courtyard steps and onto the street. There, the two women said their goodbyes, and Aunt Luisi set the bag down. I’ll never forget the sight: hop, hop, hop—the bag, with the enraged Mucki inside, bounced down the sloping street all on its own! I was just relieved I hadn’t been there for the release…

Mucki certainly led a fulfilled life as a tomcat, though it wasn’t exactly a source of unalloyed joy for my great-aunt. After all, she was constantly fielding complaints and irate accusations from her fellow citizens.

But as the saying goes: live by the sword, die by the sword. One day, Mucki disappeared again—and this time, he never returned. It seemed fate had caught up with him in his prime, far too soon, for the complaints from cat owners suddenly ceased. Aunt Luisi was inconsolable, though few could truly share in her grief.

I’m sure he had everything a tomcat could wish for: a wild life, a loving home, and a devoted foster mother.

So, Mucki—have you finally learned some manners in cat heaven? Hmm…