Losing a Friend

One night in 1989 we were eating dinner when there was a knock at the door. There mum who first answered it found the girls from a few houses up with a box of their grandma's cat's kittens. They thrust a kitten into my mum's arms and said "you'll take one won't you Mrs Smith?". Everyone around the dinner table agreed that this would be a good idea, and so Tabby came into our lives. For a number of years it was possible to see a family resemblance in a number of the neighbourhood cats, as their owners had also received that knock at the door. A feisty cat, all claws and teeth at that young age (Some of her siblings were even more fowl tempered), she soon showed her sweet nature with her favourites (me included), and in later years she would actively seek out a comfortable lap to sit on.

Tabby's name derives from Tabitha, itself a play on the word tabby. (With all that long white fur we always thought there was some Persian in her blood somewhere) At the time we got her we also had a Budgie called Sam, and so we unintentionally carried on the Bewitched theme for pet names.

This morning Tabby passed away aged a little over 19 years old, a fair age for a cat. Over the past few days she became weak and went off her food. Last night it became apparent that she probably would not last the night. We made up a comfy bed near her food bowls and said goodnight. This morning we found her lying peacefully in one of her favourite sleeping spots on the carpet in the dining room.

R.I.P Tabby

A recent photo of Tabby, November 2008.