Dreams About My Little Puma
I call her ‘Frida The Healing Cat’.
Instinctively, she knew when my daughter Sophie or I was sick with a fever.
She would always be by our bedside, weirdly kneading our tummies and purring heavily, as though she was the medicine cat of comfort.
I call her ‘The Healing Cat’ for a deeper reason. She has been my emotional equalizer helping me heal four years after my cat Gustav passed away in 2005. He was my soul mate and travel buddy for twelve years.
It was on a rainy day nine years ago when I picked up Frida from the street.
She was about two months old—drenched in the rain, scrawny, hungry, and dirty like a wet rat. But her spirit of play and her will to survive washed away the grim of the day instantly that very moment. She followed me tirelessly.
Then, I would pick her up and put her in a safe and dry corner but she just
kept on running back towards me as if telling me to take her home with me.
And so, I did.
She is an intense grouch.
She bites.
She hisses like how a puma roars.
She lets out her claws, ready to pounce and fight back.
She is extremely moody as she is equally enigmatic and beautiful. Her
piercingly hypnotic green eyes, her vampire-like fangs, and intimidating grin convince people that she is no less than a psycho cat.
If there were a cat version of Miranda Priestly in the film ‘The Devil Wears
Prada’, it would be Frida—diabolical, snobbish, and tough.
But I also know that she is a misunderstood cat to many other cats and people because beneath her velvety black coat is an extremely empathic and gentle cat soul, who continues to rush to the front door everyday and wait for me to get home from work.
It was last April 19 of this year when her vet confirmed that she has fibrosarcoma. I questioned myself endlessly what she was trying to heal in me this time after my medical leave of three months.
It is that certain connection pet parents have and believe that pets are their ‘great protectors’.
What I call her—‘The Healing Cat’—is now ironic. Exhausting my Google skills and relentlessly researching on the best natural remedy available out there to help heal Frida.
Talking to my dad, who is a veterinarian back home in Cebu, about how to deal with pet cancers.
Working closely with Frida’s doctor in Makati Dog and Cat Hospital who continues to monitor Frida’s condition with so much dedication and empathy.
After four surgeries and scars she has endured, I still find Frida in her happy moments chasing rubber balls, jumping in and out of cardboard boxes, and skittishly rolling underneath my duvet.
After a few discussions I exchanged with Frida’s vet about the kind of care he advices and recommends for Frida, we both agreed that chemotherapy was not an option.
Quality of life from hereon is what matters—with lots of love, cat hugs, turmeric juice, and making sure Frida continues to live happy everyday with Sophie and me by her side.
Not a day goes by without giving her fresh turmeric juice mixed with a pinch of pepper, her supplements and vitamins, and homecooked galunggong that she loves so much, prepared fresh everyday by Yaya Linda.
There are times, though, when I find it difficult to accept her condition.
There are some days when she feels unwell and some nights when I catch myself staring blankly at her as she cuddles beside me.
I try very hard to pull my thoughts back to my yoga mantra, “To keep the faith, to live in the present moment, and to let go.”
In the seven years of my yoga journey and applying that mindfulness in a two-hour-practice, I never imagined how meaningful, challenging, and powerful these words would define and reveal my emotional vulnerability, embracing me with strength as I help Frida fight her cancer by providing the best care and love I can give her.
Surreal as it sounds, Frida is literally a strange dream I had that came true. 
Before that serendipitous moment when she walked up to me on that rainy day, I had recurring dreams of a flying black cat that seemed like a detail of a painting.
Every short and frequent trip to the vet brings my thoughts back to that recurring dream I had.
She sits in her basket and props her head up by the car window as if she was flying against the flickering background that frames her view.
And so if dreams were this vivid and if they really do come true, then I wish to dream again about my little puma—this time, healed and free from cancer.
Life is, indeed, stranger than fiction—only because it writes an unceremonious story that reveal the realities—which will never be easy for any of us to accept.
Stephanie dela Cruz
