Thank you

The first time I saw you, you were approximately 10 months old, and were residing at the local animal rescue centre.

I was recuperating from an operation at the time, one that put paid to me ever being able to have children, and going for short walks every day was an ideal way to get some gentle exercise.

Some cats were too shy, some were too bold, you were just perfect, not too pushy, not too reclusive. And you had such beautiful markings. Sixteen years on, you still had those lovely markings.

You came home with me, you settled in straight away. You were never much trouble, and you made me laugh. A lot.

I remember the time you caught a fly, it had driven you mad for about half an hour. Once caught though, you didn't know what to do with it, and you looked at me, mouth closed, a still-buzzing fly in your mouth.
You opened your mouth to miauw, and the fly flew away.

Another time, the small barbeque on the floor of the balcony was cooking merrily away. I left it, and you for less than a minute to go and get something. When I came back, you'd grabbed a sausage from the barbeque and was walking away with it in your mouth, like a dog with a stick.

You used to follow me everywhere, you were more like a dog than a cat in that respect.

You became rather unwell earlier this year, you were shy of using your litter tray, you were losing weight.
We spent a lot of time at the veterinary surgery. Tests. You had some medicine. More tests, different medicine. You never complained when you were bundled into the pet carrier.
In the end, the vet was perplexed, he'd carried out so many tests on you, they all were inconclusive. Still you lost weight.
You were weak, but still you'd follow me; upstairs, downstairs, out to the shed.
My old faithful.

You had a bad night on Monday. On Tuesday, and after a long discussion with the vet, it was decided it was better sooner, rather than later to end your suffering.

I got on my bike, carrying you in the pet carrier. It was raining.

The first injection.
It hurt you. And in doing so, me too.
You soon felt sleepy, and the vet carefully curled you up on your cushion, and rolled a blanket over you.
It dawned on me that I'd not seen you rolled up in sleep for such a long time; of late you slept awkwardly, and on your back legs.

The vet left us alone together for a while. I watched your body rising up and down, with every breath.
I stroked your nose, ears, chin, toes, ran my fingers along your lovely markings. Watched you, breathing.

Outside, a blackbird sang.
I smiled; you were never a mouser, or a bird hunter. I liked that about you.
The mouse in this photo was the only one you ever worried. It's still covered in your hairs.

Outside, it carried on raining.
The vet came back to deliver the final shot. Within a minute you were gone.

You were to be cremated yesterday.

I cycled home. It had stopped raining.

I miss you very much, I keep thinking I hear your footsteps upstairs, that soon I'll hear you padding down the stairs, going over to your scratching pole, patiently waiting for some titbits.

And you're no longer in your basket at my feet when I'm working on the computer in the study. I used to absent-mindedly tickle your head with my toes now and again.

You're gone now. Forever.
You had a good life though didn't you, Igor?

Thank you so much for enriching mine.