When I was a young girl, I never thought that I would ever either have a pet cat or indeed love a pet cat. I grew up in a hamlet or very small village and my only experience with cats at that time were tabby cats that scavenged freely in dustbins both by day and by night. The lids on the metal bins would clatter to the ground and out would pop two or three scrawny, dusty and occasionally greasy cats. Sometimes they would be chewing at something, often they would be carrying scraps in their mouths. In those days all kinds of rubbish and kitchen waste found its way into the bins. These dustbins often smelt strongly of both death, rotting vegetation and ash combined. A smell which is difficult to describe but once experienced is surely never forgotten. My mother would usher me quickly away from any cats that were lurking around as though my soul would be scarred forever if they got near enough to touch me. So it is with this unlikely background that I got persuaded by my children to get a pet cat for them.
We decided upon a little black and white kitten from an animal sanctuary. She was one of a litter of kittens born to a young kitten as her mother was less than six months old when she was born. Amazingly, despite being the weakest and smallest of the litter, she was the only survivor and so when she came into our lives we somewhat spoilt her. This we continued to do until very sadly lying in her basket she drew her last breath.
I will always have loving and fond memories of our lovely cat as she had the sweetest disposition; she didn’t learn to miaow until she was around thirteen years old and up until then she hardly made any noise at all.
Goodbye our little cat ..