Sleep well our friend.
We have just laid Maslow, the furball baby, to rest in a nice shady spot under the big oak tree in the garden. So, he has a view of the house and we have a view of him. He has the squirrels to keep him company. And, he will be near us when we sit with friends and neighbours, as he ever was.
We had to put “the baba” to sleep after he stopped eating. He had a problem with his liver and had been poorly for several months. He was getting a little irritated by the regular visits to the vets and really didn’t enjoy taking his medicine. But, right up to the end he remained the happy furry bundle of joy that he had always been since he first appeared at our door nearly twelve years ago.
Putting him to sleep was one of the hardest and easiest decisions C and I have ever taken. We did not want him to suffer. We would do it for each other and could do no less for him. We were both holding him and he was purring when he fell asleep in our arms.
We named him Maslow after the Hierarchy of Needs. He came to us helpless, flea ridden, blind and starving. He left us (both him and us) , fulfilled. He had a happy, good life in a beautiful home. And, he was a blessing to us. A friend. Confidant. Comforter. Entertainer. We have many a happy memory.
The kitten who played fetch with his toy mice and who terrified us by jumping up the chimneys before falling asleep on your chest.
The infrequent hunter who brought us birds, shrews and mice as presents. They were never dead (apart from the one I sat on after it took refuge in my trousers) but some were more difficult to catch and rescue than others.
The diplomat who strategically positioned himself midway between the two of us and who would leave the room when voices were raised.
The companion who slept at your side during an afternoon snooze, or kept your lap warm during morning coffees or a last drink before bed. Or, who just sat on the back of the sofa, snoozing and snoring, running and chasing squirrels in his sleep or simply watching the world go by in those rare periods of being awake.
The “welcome back” tail straight in the air (well, a little less than straight after he broke it falling off the dining room table!) and the squeak “hello” as he greeted you in the car park or at the door.
The attention seeker, lying on his back, legs akimbo doing “gorgeous”. Or “mad cat” galloping into the room, staring up at imaginary monsters in the ceiling corners.
Bright eyes appearing over the rim of the bath. Smuggling his friend Henry (a neighbour’s cat) in while we were out. Banging on the bathroom door, wanting to come in. Terrifying gymnastics on the landing bannister. Drinking from puddles or the neighbour’s pond. The comedy running on the spot as he tried to get traction on the laminate floor. Walking across desktops and keyboards. Hiding from the lawnmower behind the sofa. Sleeping in sun spots. Scratches on the furniture and the bottom stair. Escaping through open bedroom windows. Running up and down the stairs playing with his squeaky mouse. Play fights. His favourite bush in the flower bed in front of the lounge window. Being brushed and groomed. Cuddles at the front door looking out at the garden to the place he now rests. The unconditional love and affection.
The house seems very empty without him. He is a shadow just out of sight behind every opening door, up on the landing, and every return home.
He was a gift that will be sorely missed. Rest in peace Maslow, our little furry bundle of love.