(no subject)
My cat died last night. I don't want to bring people down too much so I've tucked this away.
Stimpy, my adored and adorable cat, is no longer with us. He tried his best but the cat flu jab had damaged his lungs too badly. I didn't go to work today, we just sat and cried. He was our last cat; we've lost three in the last two years. He was our spoilt cat; we couldn't resist his charming, impudent ways. He was a 'people' cat; if anyone was home, he had to be near them.
No words can better sum up how I feel than the words that Maggie Joy Blunt wrote in her diary on Friday 14th March, 1947. If you've seen Our Hidden Lives, you may remember her; she was played by Sarah Parish. Her cat had died; this is what the real Maggie wrote:
"The cat died. Such an insignificant event. A dead cat - target for mockery, small boys and dust. There are too many cats in the world. Why make all the fuss because now there is one less?
Every cat is a miracle of independent, loveable life, if you have the eyes and the feeling to understand it as such. I have loved many cats and shall I expect love many more. Each one becomes a friend with a distinct individuality, and the loss each time is a deeply personal one. No one else ever replaces that person exactly, but new personalities help you to forget your grief at the loss of others. Living would be quite unbearable if you could not transfer your affections in this way."
Stimpy, my adored and adorable cat, is no longer with us. He tried his best but the cat flu jab had damaged his lungs too badly. I didn't go to work today, we just sat and cried. He was our last cat; we've lost three in the last two years. He was our spoilt cat; we couldn't resist his charming, impudent ways. He was a 'people' cat; if anyone was home, he had to be near them.
No words can better sum up how I feel than the words that Maggie Joy Blunt wrote in her diary on Friday 14th March, 1947. If you've seen Our Hidden Lives, you may remember her; she was played by Sarah Parish. Her cat had died; this is what the real Maggie wrote:
"The cat died. Such an insignificant event. A dead cat - target for mockery, small boys and dust. There are too many cats in the world. Why make all the fuss because now there is one less?
Every cat is a miracle of independent, loveable life, if you have the eyes and the feeling to understand it as such. I have loved many cats and shall I expect love many more. Each one becomes a friend with a distinct individuality, and the loss each time is a deeply personal one. No one else ever replaces that person exactly, but new personalities help you to forget your grief at the loss of others. Living would be quite unbearable if you could not transfer your affections in this way."