Well we said our goodbyes today to a family treasure – Mittens the cat. She’d reached the supremely ripe old age of 24 (which is about 150 in human years) and at times seemed to be immortal. Every time we left her at the kennels, the woman there enquired what we’d like done should the inevitable happen while we were away…
…and every time we came back to find her hale and hearty, mewing loudly every time she reckoned it was time to eat (every hour on the hour if she’d had her way!)
Max and Mittens share the sofa
She and Max worked out how to share living quarters – he was as curious as a puppy can be about this strange smelling and moving creature – she’d just bat him on the nose if he got too close. He’d get jealous if she jumped onto someone’s knee – she just purred triumphantly.
I know Roger will miss her enormously: he’d had her since she was a kitten, and that amounts to almost half his life! She used to snuggle into him when he wasn’t feeling well, and even though I’m not really a cat person, even I enjoyed her purring rubbing around my legs. I know my son Harry will miss her very much too – he always made a point of giving her plenty of attention when he visited.
Max and Mittens share the water
I left Rog to say his goodbyes at the vets this morning. She’d gone downhill rapidly over the weekend, not able to eat or drink, and falling over each time she tried to stand up or walk. We couldn’t just sit back and watch as all her internal organs failed, so agreed that a painless end was what this dignified lady deserved.
And I took Max outside for a walk while the deed was done. When I turned back round the corner and saw Rog in tears with the empty cat basket I knew just how deep his loss was. There’s certainly a Mittens-shaped hole in our lives today.
Harry gives Mitts her Christmas present
Bye bye Mitzi, it was lovely knowing you.
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Dancing At Lunacy 