In memorium, Toots, (approx) 1st June 1990 to 30th June 2006
She scratched my face and bit my nose and it was love at first bite.
A ball of black and white fur teleporting through space in carrier bags and boxes.
Charging head first at the skirting board, my kitten shaped bull.
My only friend between the weekends, the only soul I saw, or wanted to see.
Nights spent wide awake with the powders watching the war on tv. Me hoping the world wouldn't end and you chasing the friendly fire on the screen with your white paws.
I saved the swallows from your murderous intent and we watched them grow.
Our epic battles lasted for hours, the pursuit of sticks and string so intensely executed.
The gifts you brought; the mice under the pillow, the thrush still flapping on the desk, the perfectly arranged arc of unborn mice torn from the belly of their freshly killed mother and laid out on the lawn. Who couldn't adore a killer with such artistry?
Out the back door at bedtime and in through the bedroom window for a cuddle and a purr before dawn.
All that purring, louder than chainsaws. Purred through all the strokes, all the laps sat on and meals thoroughly enjoyed. Purred with the her last breath as the sedative took her. No more razor claws. No more purring. No more Toots. My friend has gone wherever it is that the glorious cats go when they have to move on. I hope there is fish.
A ball of black and white fur teleporting through space in carrier bags and boxes.
Charging head first at the skirting board, my kitten shaped bull.
My only friend between the weekends, the only soul I saw, or wanted to see.
Nights spent wide awake with the powders watching the war on tv. Me hoping the world wouldn't end and you chasing the friendly fire on the screen with your white paws.
I saved the swallows from your murderous intent and we watched them grow.
Our epic battles lasted for hours, the pursuit of sticks and string so intensely executed.
The gifts you brought; the mice under the pillow, the thrush still flapping on the desk, the perfectly arranged arc of unborn mice torn from the belly of their freshly killed mother and laid out on the lawn. Who couldn't adore a killer with such artistry?
Out the back door at bedtime and in through the bedroom window for a cuddle and a purr before dawn.
All that purring, louder than chainsaws. Purred through all the strokes, all the laps sat on and meals thoroughly enjoyed. Purred with the her last breath as the sedative took her. No more razor claws. No more purring. No more Toots. My friend has gone wherever it is that the glorious cats go when they have to move on. I hope there is fish.