The blogosphere is undoubtedly chock-full of posts like the one I’m about to make but that doesn’t make any of them less meaningful to the people involved. While the words that the writer commits to “paper” (for want of a better word) may mean nothing to casual readers or people just “passing through”, the writer themself can feel better simply by the act of getting them out in the open. Yes, it is completely and utterly self-indulgent, but that’s what I feel as I begin to write this, and I hope you, the reader, will understand that. Normal service will resume shortly and I’ll get back to enthusing about games, using bad words and ranting about the state of the country. But for now, this.

Yesterday I received the sad news that our family’s cat, who lived with my parents, died after being run over. The full meaning of these words didn’t really hit me until late in the evening, and more so today when I found myself unable to face even contemplating speaking to anyone else for a good proportion of the day. I’d like to take a moment to share a few thoughts and memories in the absence of a “funeral”. Some may wonder at the amount of attention being given to “just a cat”, but if you think that, you’ve probably never owned a beloved family pet and lost them. A family pet who is loved as much as Kitty was is absolutely a member of the family, and never “just a pet”.

There have been two cats in my life. The first, Penny, was, according to my parents, my nursemaid when I was very young. If I was ill, she’d sit outside my bedroom door “on guard”. If I cried, she’d come and “tell” my folks. She was part of the family, right down to sitting at the table to have Christmas dinner with us – because if there was one thing she loved, it was human food.

Penny died of old age one night about eleven years ago. She knew it was going to happen. She sat down in front of our heating vent in the hallway of our house and stayed there for the evening. We said goodnight to her and went to bed, leaving her some water and food where she was. When we came down in the morning, she had passed away quietly. We said our goodbyes and buried her in the garden beneath a cat statue, where she sleeps now.

The house was quiet for a while without a cat. Very quickly, our family decided that we didn’t want to be without a cat – it was just too quiet after so many years of having Penny – so we took a ride up to the local animal sanctuary to meet the candidates.

Kitty (who already knew her name, so there was no hope of ever changing that!) was a tiny little thing who was very nervous when we met her. She was cute and friendly, despite her nerves, however, so we chose her and took her home. It took time for her to come out of her shell – for the longest time, she was afraid even to go outside. Apparently, her previous home had had dogs who had terrorised the poor thing into submission. As time went on, however, she grew more confident and also grew physically from the tiny cat we had picked up from Wood Green animal shelter into a rather larger one!

She was a very friendly cat. She made an effort to make people like her – even self-professed “cat-haters”. She would simply jump in their lap when they came to visit, sit there and purr until even they admitted that she wasn’t that bad, after all. She would also jump in your lap for a cuddle at the most inopportune times – having dinner, attempting to write an email, reading a book… If you were in a chair and you had a lap, you were fair game.

It’s a fair bet that wherever she is now (I have it on good authority that while all dogs go to heaven, all cats go to Valhalla) she’s jumping in the lap of someone, rolling over and purring contentedly. I can just see her lying in a Valkyrie’s lap with a big silly grin on her face.

And so this post is to say a very public goodbye to Kitty Davison. You will be missed sorely by all who knew you and loved you, and I hope Penny takes good care of you.

Rest in peace.