Today was full of heartbreak. The end of the road for our fluffy little tabby cat, Dave.
She came to us in March 2011, sitting on our back porch and wooing us all with her big green eyes until we had to take her in.
She has been with us through thick and thin, for almost as long as the kids can remember.
Always a constant presence. A warm furry body to snuggle away a sleepless child's anxiety. The jingle bell on her collar, warning birds to beware. The hum of her purr as she settled herself on the hip or belly of whoever sat still long enough in a sunny spot.
There's a legend that she was a street cat, a fighter. Sometimes she'd disappear for days, reappearing with sticky fur or nicks taken out of her ears.
But she always came home.
We knew Dave was old, but were never sure exactly HOW old - she was already full-grown when she adopted us more than ten years ago.
Dash wrote this, March 2011:
"On Friday I saw a cat. Me and Scrag wanted to keep it and when Fab came back she saw the cat and she wanted to keep it too. That night I was sad because my parents wouldn't let us, and it was raining. The cat wanted to come in but it couldn't... cos it might of had some germs or fleas.
On Monday my mum got it some cat food biscuits. We have adopted it and it has adopted us.
At the same time, Miss Fab wrote:
Yesterday Dash called, distraught, as I was on my way home from work.
"Mum, I think Dave's dying. She won't eat and she's breathing funny..."
Our little Dave died this morning of old age. Her poor little lungs filled up with fluid and her organs failed.
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