A death

Last night the second of our two cats had to be put to sleep. The first had a serious heart condition that led to her eventual death (by injection) in early June. The wee thing hadn't eaten for several days and was looking scrawny and unable to get to food bowl or litter tray. Chicken hearted I sent my husband to the vet with her, and she already has a bush covered plot within the garden.

When I arrived home last night to find the heating on in an already hot house, the second cat appeared to be lounging in the hall. However when I passed her a second time I noticed that she hadn't moved and that her back legs looked wrong. On investigation it became apparent that she could no longer move her back legs. Again my husband took her to the vet, and we knew she would not come home alive. She had the same heart condition, but unfortunately had a blood clot which had stopped the blood going to her legs. It was only a matter of time before she would have been in a huge amount of pain.

The children have taken the loss of our family pets well, and tonight we will say another farewell in the garden, and this time plant some apple trees to mark their place of rest.

However this morning I don't feel very brave.

The cats came to live with us long before the arrival of children and in the months following my first escapade with a DVT and pulmonary embolisms. In the midst of the depression that followed my brush with immortality they were companions in the house when others had to be at work, and over the years have been faithful companions around the house when preparing for worship or funerals.

They were not overly demanding companions, but good company and listening ears that didn't make unnecessary response when you needed a rant.

I know that part of my bereftness is not just the missing of the companionship, but also the acknowledgement that I've survived 15 years that in the midst of one August week it looked like I might never have. I am truly thankful for the journey that two feline friends have walked with me.