Józio – animal magnetism

By Jan Ryland

As a member of the Ryland family, I had the privilege of caring for rescue cats for about twenty-five years. Each one we adopted was special in its own way, worming its way into our hearts with its idiosyncrasies and unique sweetness. However, none had the same charisma as our second cat, Józio. He was named after the eminent Polish statesman who served as Poland's first Marshal, Józef Piłsudski. Like his namesake, Józio was self-assured, authoritative and commanded attention. When greeting or bidding farewell to our guests, he would sit a few steps higher above everyone else like a marshal surveying a battlefield. 

From the start, it was clear that Józio was destined for greatness. When we went to adopt him from the Battersea Cats & Dogs Home, the volunteer on duty introduced him: ‘Here is our film star!”. And Józio, or Józ for short, continued to attract admiring glances from guests, neighbours and passers-by, 

Józio didn’t take long to settle in with us. Like all cats, he had his preferred spots: the sofa, my parents’ bed, or under my bed on bonfire night. But he was so comfortable with us that really, there weren’t many spots that he didn’t claim as his own. You could find Józio in my Mum’s sports bag, on my brother’s pillow (with Tom sleeping beside him), in the sink in both bathrooms, and with his paws resting gently in different pairs of smelly shoes.

Józio was a Turkish Van (he had the ringed, ginger markings on his tail characteristic of the breed) and thick, longish hair that he shed profusely, leaving it on every soft surface in the house. Hair rollers and a specialist vacuum cleaner helped only so much. 

Gentle and playful, he wanted to be fully involved in family life. One of our pictures shows my dad working on a set of client accounts while Józio lies on his chest, inspecting his work for errors.

Often, this desire to be involved extended to bedtime. Locking him out of the room felt like locking a baby out, since his plaintive cries and insistent pawing melted away any resolve that I had until I inevitably cracked and let him in. My thanks for this was Józio nesting himself firmly in the valley between my legs. Never mind that it was impossible for me to sleep like this; he was in his happy place, warm and safe, and that’s all that mattered.

Józio’s outgoing nature and friendliness extended to guests. Many remarked on how beautiful and sociable he was. Once, a local police officer came round to make enquiries about a crime committed a couple of streets away. The gentleman sat down, and Mum offered him a cup of tea. Ever the welcoming presence, Józio immediately jumped on the officer’s lap and started purring. I’m not sure whether the policeman got the information he was looking for, but at least he left with a positive impression and white hair on his black jacket.

Another time, a family friend remarked on how soft Józio’s fur was and how white and clean it was, given that he loved rolling on the ground. Jokingly, Mum suggested that we put him in the spin cycle for thirty minutes. “Really?”, asked the visitor. As you can guess, dear reader, this person was not a pet owner.

It was inevitable that Józio would one day grace the screen. When a news crew from Polish TVN prepared a report on Brexit's impact on the Polish community in London, they chose my parents to interview at home. The crew shot footage of our home. When the programme was screened, my parents' interviews were interspersed with footage of Józio looking pleased with himself, secure in the knowledge that his moment as a star had finally come to pass.

As with many gregarious and brilliant beings, Józio’s star burned bright but fast. Too fast. In the latter years of his life, he suffered from thyroid problems and crossed the rainbow bridge, merely at twelve. At work that day, I refused to take off my sunglasses. I did not want my colleagues to see my red eyes, as I grieved for the loss of my beloved cuddlepaw.

Yet this story is not a sad one. It was a privilege to have Józio in our lives. He was a beautiful, characterful rascal who gave back just as much love as he got. As with all our cats, he held a big piece of my heart.

As the German poet Ludwig Jacobowski (often misattributed to Dr Seuss) once wrote, “Do not cry because they are past! Smile, because they once were!”