I first noticed the cat I now know is named OG, last summer. I was sitting in the garden of the Old Ground Hotel in Ennis, enjoying a glass of wine, when my watchful dog alerted me to the presence of a cat, sleeping on the cushion of a nearby chair.
If you grew up in a small town, as I did, it’s likely your family had a particular affinity with a local hotel. The place where you mark family gatherings; the place that, over time, becomes ever more meaningful due to the memories created during those gatherings.
I grew up in Ennis, and that hotel for us was the one closest to our house; a walk of less than five minutes. The Old Ground Hotel was originally a family home, and has been a hotel since 1895. It was where my christening party was held. There is an absurd photograph of my family sitting on a bench in the hotel garden, my solemn brothers in shorts and bow-ties, my sister wearing a velvet crown of flowers, my father in a suit, and me in a christening robe, bawling on my joyful mother’s lap.
I observed change over the years as the original building rose first by an extra floor, and then another. My sister’s wedding reception was held there. My father attended monthly club meetings there for many years, and lengthy Christmas lunches. In recent years, I regularly spent an hour or so there on Sunday mornings. I would drive my parents to Mass in the cathedral opposite, and then have coffee in the foyer while waiting to drive them home again.
The Old Ground Hotel is where our family had hoped to host lunch later this month after the first anniversary Mass for my mother. She died last year during lockdown, when only 10 were permitted at a funeral. After her anniversary Mass, we had hoped to meet family and her many friends who could not attend the funeral last year. Sadly, we will not be able to do that, as the restrictions are still in place that forbid parties larger than six gathering for hospitality purposes.
In all the years of knowing the hotel, until recently, I had only once stayed there before. That particular occasion was for a special wedding anniversary for my parents, when several family members stayed in the hotel, and where we had a celebratory dinner together. But this month, work took me to Ennis, and I stayed in the Old Ground.
It’s a very strange feeling staying in a hotel in the town where you grew up. On the previous occasion so many other family members had also been staying under the same roof that the experience had been muted. But this time, I was there alone. In between shuttling back and forth to the county archives, I went through doors that proclaimed “Residents Only”.
Now that I am a whole lot older than I was on the occasion of my christening, and have stayed in a lot of hotels, I recognise that the artwork on the walls were chosen by someone with an exceptional eye. Throughout the hotel, there are several beautiful original paintings, many of them depicting Clare scenes, particularly the Burren. The sofas and armchairs are old-fashioned in the best way, and extremely comfortable. The curtains are as thick as stage curtains. There is a real fire, which is kept lit, and what looks like an antique Irish brass-bound turf basket beside it. There is charm and character everywhere.
I heard the cathedral bells ringing from my room far louder than I hear them in our family home. I looked out the window of my top-storey room and saw Ennis from a height I was unaccustomed to.
He turned up about four years ago, and the hotel staff have taken care of him ever since. The cat's name is OG after Old Ground
It was on the first morning that I again noticed the cat I had first seen in the hotel garden last summer. The cat was walking around outside, with the air of one familiar with the territory. When I returned later, the cat was sitting on a windowsill near the entrance. This time, when I went inside, I paused in the glass porch that is situated between the entrance and the foyer.
Under an umbrella stand was a little makeshift bed. Alongside it was a container of water and an empty food bowl. It appeared that like me, the cat was also a resident. After that, I looked for the cat every time I came and went, sometimes spotting it curled up asleep in the porch.
When I was checking out, I asked about the cat. He turned up about four years ago, and the hotel staff have taken care of him ever since. The cat’s name is OG after Old Ground.
To my knowledge, most Irish four-star hotels do not have resident cats in their porches. I paused again in the porch when departing, to look at the sleeping cat, and thought about the kindness it represented on the part of the hotel staff who take care of it. A hotel that welcomes and maintains a stray cat can only be one that welcomes its human guests even more.
And maybe next January, we can look forward to gathering in the Old Ground Hotel once more as a family, to celebrate my mother’s life.
