His name was Simon, and he was the only cat in history to receive the Dickin Medal — the animal equivalent of the Victoria Cross. And yes… he absolutely earned it. In 1948, Simon was just a skinny stray roaming the docks of Hong Kong, sneaking fish heads and weaving between crates to stay warm at night. He had half a tail, a torn ear, and the look of a cat who’d seen a few lifetimes already. Then the British sloop HMS Amethyst arrived. A young sailor found Simon begging for scraps and decided he was coming aboard. The captain wasn’t thrilled — until Simon took up residence in the lower decks and quickly began doing what he did best: hunting. The ship was crawling with rats. Big ones. Bold ones. The kind that chewed through ropes, spoiled food stores, and kept sailors awake at night. Simon got to work. Within weeks, the rats vanished. The crew adored him. He slept in sailors’ bunks, strutted along railings, and left the occasional dead rat “gift” as proof of his dedication. They called him the hardest-working member of the ship. Then came 1949 — and the mission that turned Simon from a ship’s mascot into a wartime legend. The Amethyst was ordered upriver along the Yangtze to relieve another British vessel during the Chinese Civil War. They expected tension. They didn’t expect an ambush. On April 20th, the ship was suddenly shelled from the riverbank. Explosions tore through the deck. Sailors scrambled for cover. The captain was killed instantly. And in the chaos, Simon was hit — badly. Shrapnel shredded his face and burned his fur. His whiskers were gone. His paws were scorched. His body was blown across the deck by the blast. Everyone thought he was dead. But the next morning, when the injured crew stumbled through the wreckage looking for survivors… Simon limped out of the captain’s cabin, meowing for breakfast. His face was bandaged. His tail was singed. His walk was crooked. But his spirit? Unbroken. While the sailors struggled to repair the wounded ship, another crisis emerged: a massive rat infestation. Rats swarmed the food stores, threatened medical supplies, and gnawed everything they could find. The crew was exhausted, starving, and running low on morale. And that’s when Simon — still injured, half shaved, stitched up and limping — returned to duty. He hunted. He stalked. He fought. In his condition, he should’ve been recovering in a quiet corner. Instead, he took on rats twice his size and won. He cleared entire hold compartments. He protected the food supply. He essentially saved the crew from starvation. Sailors later said, “As long as Simon kept fighting, we knew we could too.” He became their symbol of survival — their scrappy, stubborn reminder that the ship could push through anything. After a 101-day ordeal, the Amethyst finally escaped downriver — battered, limping, but alive. Simon rode the entire journey home like a champion. When the ship reached England, Simon became a national hero. Newspapers plastered his story everywhere. Letters poured in. Children sent him cards. He received so much fan mail the Royal Navy assigned a sailor just to answer it. But the greatest honor came next. Simon was awarded the Dickin Medal for “unwavering bravery in the face of fire,” making him the first — and still the only — cat to ever receive it. Sadly, he passed away shortly after arriving in England due to complications from his earlier injuries. The entire crew mourned. His funeral was attended with full naval honors. Today, a stone memorial in Essex marks his resting place. It reads simply: “Simon — A Very Brave Cat.” He was small. He was battered. He was never supposed to matter. But on a wounded ship, in a river aflame with war, he was the bit of courage that kept an entire going!