Tis a sad day, as this morning I was told one of my parents cats, an amiable old tom called Wuss (picture), finally passed on, over the weekend. We worked out he was about 16 years old so he had a good life.
I was there at his birth; his amiability and good nature shone through from an early age. He grew into a cat that loved being outdoors, he would roam down to the farm, some half mile distant, and tour his patch every day round the cottage. He was a fearsome hunter but never quite grasped the idea of play, be it a ball or similar, but if he heard something in the fruit cage, he streaked across the garden.
I can still recall how he would settle on the back of the computer chair and lean back into me and make himself comfortable. He loved to share the sofa on an evening and wasn’t much trouble to anyone.
After my parent had moved into town, he never really settled and in the last 18 months, his health slowly went downhill and thankfully he passed on in his sleep.
His mother survives him, although she’s practically blind, she soldiers on.
Through my tears, I can only say “Sleep well and good hunting, old man…”