Bramwell 1997-2008

He died last night, the sick cat I wrote about some time ago.  In truth, he hung on far longer than I thought he would and simply faded away slowly, rather than coming to an agonised, cataclysmic end like the last cat who lived with me.

I’d known Bram for nearly all of his life, although for the last few years I’d seen him almost in the way that a visitor would rather than as a true owner, as he had been in the custody of my ex-husband and his partner since mid-2003.

We’d chosen him as a large, robust, furry kitten in the summer of 1997 and he grew into a huge, amiable beast as an adult, staying in good health until recently.

On Saturday I saw the frail little creature that he’d become over his last weeks, featherlight and frail.  I had a feeling it would be the last time I saw him, so cradled him in my arms and kissed his little purring head.

As I’ve never had children, my cats have always been my babies and the loss of one is always a dreadful thing.

Now there is only Henri, the silver tabby who is really “my” cat but lives in Birmingham.  He has seen out four other cats, all ginger and at such time as I have another of my own, much as I love them, I will not be choosing a ginger one as they seem to not be as strong.  Only one of the four has lived a relatively long life for a cat.

I have some photos of him stuck on the hallway wall at home.  In one, he is cradled in my arms, gazing engagingly at the camera lens, his huge amber eyes bright with youth.  That is how I want to remember him.

Goodnight Bram x