Dashwood - 5/11/92 - 30/11/94
Dashwood (Dishy) was my little ginger cat, who was with me for just over 2 years. I saw him one lunchtime in a pet shop in town and fell in love at first sight. I told him to wait until I finished classes later that day and I would be back for him. Unfortunately I couldn't get there before they closed so I got my then boyfriend to go and get him and I'd meet them at the bus stop.
I was so worried that he'd have been sold, but when I got to the bus stop there he was. I held him close inside my coat all the way home - he didn't yowl once, just peeled out to see where he was going.
Well, every day I loved him more and more, he never scratched me, and he grew into a beautiful cat. Where I was, there he was. Sometimes he could make himself look like Yoda. He was my golden boy, my silver paws.
Then on a wet November morning I was called downstairs by Liivi. She'd found him by the roadside when she went out to take Kiir to school and had brought him home to me. I picked him up, there was still a hint of warmth, but he was gone with not a mark on him not even a line of blood from his mouth. I held him close, standing in the front garden, and screamed at Heaven for the injustice. Screamed until I could taste blood. My boyfriend came and brought us inside, and I sat in the conservatory for over two hours holding Dashwood close, stroking his fur, tickling his ears, crying, talking to him, but he couldn't feel or hear me and I couldn't bring him back.
I wrapped him in the blanket I knit for him when he was a kitten and we dug him a grave under the cherry tree at the bottom of our garden. Then we made sure the other cats got a chance to say their goodbyes, and I put my beloved in the cold wet ground. I found a few flowers to put with him and made sure he was well wrapped in his blanky and put the earth on him. And wailed.
Sometimes the other cats go and sit on his grave, sometimes I go and talk to him. For a while after he died I could see him sitting on the grass above his burial place; it was so hard not to go and get him, to hold him close, or just to snip a piece of his fur - I forgot to do that.
Dishy was one of the great loves of my life, we had a special connection, losing him still hurts. But I'm richer for having known him, even if it was for a short while.
Some lives never leave us, some lives mean more to us than our own.
I was so worried that he'd have been sold, but when I got to the bus stop there he was. I held him close inside my coat all the way home - he didn't yowl once, just peeled out to see where he was going.
Well, every day I loved him more and more, he never scratched me, and he grew into a beautiful cat. Where I was, there he was. Sometimes he could make himself look like Yoda. He was my golden boy, my silver paws.
Then on a wet November morning I was called downstairs by Liivi. She'd found him by the roadside when she went out to take Kiir to school and had brought him home to me. I picked him up, there was still a hint of warmth, but he was gone with not a mark on him not even a line of blood from his mouth. I held him close, standing in the front garden, and screamed at Heaven for the injustice. Screamed until I could taste blood. My boyfriend came and brought us inside, and I sat in the conservatory for over two hours holding Dashwood close, stroking his fur, tickling his ears, crying, talking to him, but he couldn't feel or hear me and I couldn't bring him back.
I wrapped him in the blanket I knit for him when he was a kitten and we dug him a grave under the cherry tree at the bottom of our garden. Then we made sure the other cats got a chance to say their goodbyes, and I put my beloved in the cold wet ground. I found a few flowers to put with him and made sure he was well wrapped in his blanky and put the earth on him. And wailed.
Sometimes the other cats go and sit on his grave, sometimes I go and talk to him. For a while after he died I could see him sitting on the grass above his burial place; it was so hard not to go and get him, to hold him close, or just to snip a piece of his fur - I forgot to do that.
Dishy was one of the great loves of my life, we had a special connection, losing him still hurts. But I'm richer for having known him, even if it was for a short while.
Some lives never leave us, some lives mean more to us than our own.