Because I'm new to the site, this is a posthumous tribute to my earlier cats.
Several years ago we had a Persian called Bomber. We got him as a two year old from a breeder. For months he was unfriendly and hid behind the sofa all the time. When he started to venture out, he came back one night in a terrified and dishevelled state. He was full of mud and looked like he'd been attacked. We started to clean him expecting some horrific wounds underneath but there wasn't a mark on him when we'd finished.
Weirdly, from that moment on he became super friendly and sociable. My daughter, who was about six at the time used to dress him in small clothes and put him in a doll's pram and he loved it. He used to wait next to the pram in readiness.
He slowly became the victim of old age and at the age of 19 we realised he had not long left.
I came down one morning and he was laid on his side doing an unusual (for him) meowing sound and his breathing was compromised. I picked him up and put him on the comfiest cushion I could find. He gave me one last look, sighed and left us.
I'm convinced to this day that he clung on to life until one of us came down to say goodbye so he could die peacefully whilst being cuddled. My daughter is now in her thirties and she still misses him terribly.
At least he died of old age but our little darling Poppy was not so lucky. She was a Bengal cross and was my wife's soulmate. They had an affinity that was special. Only a few months ago she got out and was run over by a car. We are all still devastated by this and can't believe it happened. We look at the spot where she used to lie on our bed and are filled with sadness and what ifs. Why didn't we make absolutely sure she couldn't get out? What if that car driver had been delayed for just a second before starting the journey? Oh for a machine that could turn back time.
Several years ago we had a Persian called Bomber. We got him as a two year old from a breeder. For months he was unfriendly and hid behind the sofa all the time. When he started to venture out, he came back one night in a terrified and dishevelled state. He was full of mud and looked like he'd been attacked. We started to clean him expecting some horrific wounds underneath but there wasn't a mark on him when we'd finished.
Weirdly, from that moment on he became super friendly and sociable. My daughter, who was about six at the time used to dress him in small clothes and put him in a doll's pram and he loved it. He used to wait next to the pram in readiness.
He slowly became the victim of old age and at the age of 19 we realised he had not long left.
I came down one morning and he was laid on his side doing an unusual (for him) meowing sound and his breathing was compromised. I picked him up and put him on the comfiest cushion I could find. He gave me one last look, sighed and left us.
I'm convinced to this day that he clung on to life until one of us came down to say goodbye so he could die peacefully whilst being cuddled. My daughter is now in her thirties and she still misses him terribly.
At least he died of old age but our little darling Poppy was not so lucky. She was a Bengal cross and was my wife's soulmate. They had an affinity that was special. Only a few months ago she got out and was run over by a car. We are all still devastated by this and can't believe it happened. We look at the spot where she used to lie on our bed and are filled with sadness and what ifs. Why didn't we make absolutely sure she couldn't get out? What if that car driver had been delayed for just a second before starting the journey? Oh for a machine that could turn back time.
