He was a magnificent cat. As a kitten he climbed curtains and fetched rolled-up socks; later he liked nothing better than to climb onto my shoulders while I was cooking, or to prod me awake with a touch of claw. Like most Siamese he was people-focused rather than attached to a territory; he commuted happily between Bristol and Wales for a number of years, and the one thing guaranteed to annoy him was for one of us to go away for more than a day or so – on return, I would get roughly thirty seconds of relieved affection, followed by the cold shoulder for the next few hours, and on one occasion he even sprayed on my leg in fury…
He had his ups and downs in the last few years; a tendency to come down with pancreatitis, usually when we were just about to go on holiday, unless carefully nurtured with prawns and chicken, and the famous occasion when he got himself locked into the Methodist chapel down the road for the whole of Easter weekend. When he suddenly started losing weight in the autumn, despite retaining a healthy appetite, it was clear that something serious was wrong; we agreed that fourteen was a pretty good age for a cat to reach, and that he should be spared the sorts of tests and absences from home that would be involved in trying to diagnose and treat the problem. I didn’t think he’d make it to Christmas, but he soldiered on, as affectionate as ever, adored by the other cats, just older and tireder and with less inclination to be gentle when waking me up in the morning.
I was heading off to a conference for a couple of days before we left on holiday, so Anne was putting the cats into jail; on an impulse, I went back to kiss him goodbye, and that was the last I saw of him, as he took a sudden turn for the worse that afternoon and was put to sleep the next day. We hoped that having three weeks away might help both us and other other cats, and probably it did, but every so often in Budapest or Germany one of us would go very quiet for a bit, and the first thing the others did when they got home was rush round looking for him, wailing. They’re still very clingy. I don’t think it’s just that he was the eldest; he seems to have been as special to them as he was to us. Farewell, Basil.
Okay, this isn’t exactly the obvious place to publish this, but I’ve included some appropriate music – the second song isn’t about cats as such, but manages to encapsulate their attitude to life perfectly – and in any case I owe some sort of explanation of why I was in such a state at the beginning of the month…
Farewell to the Aristocat, sorry for your loss.
So sorry, Abahachi.
so sorry to hear that Aba, lovely tribute
I am so sorry. I have had cats in the past and have had to have them put to sleep because of illness or old age.
I have my dogs now and the idea of losing them makes me feel ill.
I really do understand your loss.
Condolences from me too.
Know how you feel, Aba, My condolences.
I’m so, so sorry Aba. Basil was beautiful. Condolences to you, Mrs, and other cats.
Condolences here too – lovely musical tribute to Basil.
I’m really sorry to hear that, Herr Hachi, it’s always sad to lose a family member (and I reckon ‘family’ includes members of the non-human variety).
I don’t think you ‘owe’ us any kind of explanation, though… but I would like to know if you managed to catch sourpus in Budapest?
Sorry to hear this. I hope there’s a kitty heaven somewhere. Several of my old friends are there already, I’m sure they will save a place by the radiator for Basil.
Commiserations from me, as well.
And from me. Losing a loved cat is very hard.
so sorry to hear of your loss.
It’s hard to cope with and harder to explain but I know exactly how you’re feeling.
Beautiful cat and at peace now. I hope he says hello to my Alexander.
.
Every so often, there appears a king amongst cats. Basil sounds like one.
Neither of my long-living two (Arthur & Buxton) in the last twenty years was that, but a friend of mine (& gordonimmel‘s) had just such a beast, by the name of Pugwash. What you wrote above, Prof, put me in mind of him. Thanks for stirring memories of all three of those magnificent creatures.
Nonetheless, I’m very sorry to hear of Basil’s passing and your loss.
ABAHACHI – You made me cry. I don’t think I can handle being owned by another cat after my beloved “CAT!” got hit by a car. He was only three, and neutered, so he shouldn’t have roamed. I still feel robbed.
Our tortoiseshell cat, Melody, died in 2001 aged 17. We had had her from a kitten, when my son was also a kitten.
She was obsessive about him and when he brought his first girl-friends home, she would react jealously.
Like all torties, she was a grumpy animal at times, but she had been through some very bad times with us and we loved her.
Both my wife and I broke down and cried unashamedly when it happened and I know what you are going through.
Condolences.
Thank you all so much for your comments, and I’m sorry to have reminded some of you of other sad occasions – webcore’s comment brought to mind, belatedly, how sad I felt when Chris’s cat fell ill and had to be put to sleep. I can at least think how lucky I am that all my cats so far – touch wood – have lived to a decent age and had a good life, even if in the case of a couple of them who had congenital health problems (we do seem to end up taking in such cats) it wasn’t nearly as long as we’d have liked.
My sympathy too. When my elderly cat was put down, I vowed never again. Haven’t cracked yet…
Very sad to hear this, Aba, I know how you feel.