LOSING TOM
On a rainy Saturday afternoon in February, I said goodbye to my cat, Tom.
He fought so hard to stay with me. But everything was stacked against him. I kissed him one last time. With Tom, as ever, purring in my arms. As the sun went down in his beautiful, big eyes, the last thing he saw was the love I had for him.
No-one could have asked for a more beautiful, sweet-natured cat. I am grateful for everything he gave me. From his almost constant purring, to his lovely quirks: The way he couldn’t squeeze out of the cat flap when he was a total fatso. The way he used to think he was Jesus and walk across a single page of a newspaper in mid-air, (arguably believing there was still “table” underneath), until gravity reminded him that he was mistaken. Ludicrously clumsy for a cat, was Tom.
The way nothing ever seemed to ruin his mellow mood.
The way he seemed perceptive, almost psychic, during times when I felt down. And would just come and sit, and purr, and look. Not taking. Just giving.
The way he slept wrapped around me atop the pillow every night, like a pulsating, tabby Afro.
The way he hated being alone.
The way he used to bring his feline friends home to met me all the time. And never seemed to want to fight other cats. The way he used to calmly and sweetly tolerate all the tablets when he was sick. And all the assist-feeding in a syringe when he was REALLY sick.
The way he was my companion. My best friend, My beautiful little boy cat.
If love alone could have healed him, he would be running in the Grand National.
Now all I have left is this tribute. To the best little boy I have ever known. You broke my heart, Tom. But there is a piece of my being; a piece of my soul; a little lush green corner… that will always belong to you, and no one else.
