Monday, 15 January 2007

Baby, Baby!

Unwelcome, stray cats from the village were no problem to Baby. Small in stature though he was, he had a stout heart, didn’t think twice about tackling them and, over the years, suffered many scars and bites, proof of his valiant attempts to defend his territory. As a result of frequent muggings by bigger cats, he and our vet became well acquainted.

When Baby purred, which seemed to be all the day long, his whole body reverberated with joy. He had a happy, jaunty air about him, a kind of joie de vivre. Whenever our car came down the drive, he would run up to greet and welcome each of us back home, and seemed genuinely pleased to see us.

Two years ago, after having had him for eight years, we were heart-broken to discover, from the results of a series of tests carried out by the vet, that he had diabetes and kidney-failure. Choosing not to go on holiday, I got up very early each day to nurse him for what turned out to be the last six months of his life.

No matter how many injections and tests he had to endure, he stayed sweet and uncomplaining, suffering in silence to his last breath. We buried him in a sunny spot in the garden and I planted forget-me-nots and poppies on his grave, in memory of his unforgettable character.

Silky fur,
Motorbike purr.
Makes us furious,
When he’s curious!
Watch him dart,
What a treat,
He’s so sweet!
Miniature size,
Amber eyes.

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