Sunday, December 2

Yoyo goes up


Yoyo was a cat.  A beautiful completely black cat, with yellow eyes, who came into our family about 8 years ago as a kitten, and whose primary contribution to the family has been to meow for food every time I go in the kitchen.

Yoyo had a flea allergy, and so had a pretty miserable life.  He often looked ill, and we wondered if it was cancer, but were assured by the vet that it was just the allergy.  Occasionally he had a flu, from which he would recover after a few days.  But basically he was a lazy fat cat who would rarely move further than the distance between the food bowl and the warm top of the tumble drier.

In the last week he was not really himself.  My son kept telling me he was ill, but I dismissed it as flea allergy/flu/he’s just lazy.  When we came home from fetching our eldest from University last night, we heard that Yoyo had repeatedly been sick and urinated in the dining room.  The kids had looked this up on the internet and said it was serious, needing immediate attention.

I decided to take him to the vet on Monday morning.
But that night I picked him up for a cuddle.  He let me, whereas he would normally scratch me to pieces rather than let me pick him up.  Clearly ill.  But when I stroked him, he purred, and though ill seemed reasonably contented.  Maybe it was flu after all.

When I came down for breakfast, there was a dead black cat on the kitchen floor.  Lying on his side, legs outstretched – peaceful.  But cold and stiff.  Probably passed away not too  long after my comforting cuddle.
Its probably for the best, really.  Had he gone to the vet, there may have been uncomfortable treatment which would just get him back to his rather miserable life.

Not sure if there is an animal heaven – if so it must be pretty full of all the dead microbes – but I told my 4 year old that was where Yoyo went.
Burial this afternoon –in the square yard round the apple tree in the yard that we laughably call the lawn.  Had to buy three bags of compost to get enough soil there to bury him in.  With a cat statue on top.

He was technically my 5th child’s cat, but nr 4 and nr 6 were the ones that cried.

No comments:

Post a Comment