November 13, 2011

Farewell big orange cat

*** Warning: cat-related rant follows ***

It’s been a sad week chez Fantapants. On Wednesday we had to say goodbye to our beloved big orange cat, aka Morris (aka Maurice when he was naughty), who had reached the end stages of chronic renal failure* and was officially Not Enjoying Himself At All. His lovely vet came to our house and put Morris to sleep on the dining room table, after which Mr Fantapants dug a hole in his favourite sun-snoozing spot under the rose bush and we buried him wrapped in his favourite cardigan.**

Morris (full name: Morris Watersports, on account of his love of paddling) was 12, which is fairly young by moggie standards. I thought we’d have him for at least a few more years, but CRF is pretty much untreatable and when we got the diagnosis we decided we’d rather show him a good time (i.e. feed him prawns and steak and fancy little tins of cat food every day) than try to prolong his life (with absolutely no guarantee of success) with a blander-than-bland diet and subcutaneous fluids.

So now there is no one wedged between me and Mr F on the sofa at night. No one batting things off my bedside table to wake me up at dawn. No one brushing their whiskers against my cheek while I sleep to get me to lift the blankets so that they can snuggle up to my belly. No one demanding to be fed at all hours. There is a ginger-sized hole in my heart, and nothing can fill it.

* translation: his kidneys had gone bung
** which my mum had given me the week Morris arrived, and which he promptly claimed as his own kneading-and-nuzzling security blanket


  1. I'm so sorry, Aimee, what sad news. xxx

  2. Hard and harder. When your relationship is so uncomplicated and so routine there is a massive hole left. Sad...