My beloved feline friend died this afternoon. She had lived with me and shared my life for longer than I lived with my own parents. Arriving in my flat as a tiny black kitten, just six weeks old, she could sit on my hand with all four feet and a tidily curled tail – and continued to try and do so for months after she outgrew my palm. She then became a rebellious teenager – and she withdrew bodily contact during daylight hours – objecting with tooth and claw if I transgressed her decision. But in the middle of the night, when her feet got cold, she would creep onto my bed and snuggle close. I had to wait until she was seven years old before she would again allow me to pick her up, or accept a cuddle.
She tolerated TH coming into our lives. He was allergic to cat fur in those days – not a promising start to our new relationship. He had never known any cats, admitted a certain dislike. Tolerance would be a positive achievement between them. But, astonishingly, over the intervening years he has developed tolerance to Ms Mog’s fur – though most other cats will still trigger an allergic reaction. And the initial ‘Tolerance’ became ‘Respect’, and then companionship.
Ms Mog loved moving to this house, with the garden. During the first week, we were breakfasting on the back lawn, and a streak of grey followed by black dashed past our feet – Ms Mog chasing the local squirrel as fast as she could, and faster than she believed possible – we both saw the look in her eyes that said “I hope I don’t catch up with it......”
Today is about three months short of her 20th birthday – an astonishing lifetime, given that she had twice been rescued from The Brink – about eight years ago and again about four years later. She has been nearing this end point for more than long enough – but each time we asked her The Big Question, she smiled gently, and said “Ok, so I’m old, and a bit creaky, but I’m fine - where’s the food ?” She hated vets – with a pathological hatred which increased as she got older - and she made me promise four years ago that we would not push her on before she was ready to go – she was determined – so determined – to make that decision herself. I got home at lunchtime today, and she was clearly nearing The Time – we would have to Take Steps when TH got home with the car. But though now so drowsy, with her breathing getting irregular, she seemed very comfortable and settled on my lap – but getting colder - so we sat in her beloved conservatory in the sunshine. When this fantastic addition to our house was being built, Miss Mog would creep out every evening and inspect every detail of the day’s progress, and somehow made sure she marked her ownership of the enterprise by leaving her footprints for posterity in the concrete floor.
My wee feisty black feline always loved lying in the sun, and even though she was getting further from us, today was no exception. She relaxed in the sunshine, stretching gently...... and with a wee smile she gently slipped away before TH got home - she evaded The Vet just like she wanted.
Beloved pet. We have missed her so much as she has gradually withdrawn from our lives – she decided to be an Upstairs Cat about three years ago, demanding a waitress service for her meals, and waking us up for cuddles when she felt lonely in the wee sma’ hours. But frail though she had become, her voice was as insistent as ever when she decided it was her suppertime. She was still very much a part of the household, and her presence continually enriched our lives.
Now, at last, she rests in peace, and we must get used to the resultant emptiness.
