Unhappy news to report: one of our two cats, Kimahri, was struck by a car and killed on Sunday.
What we will remember is not the manner of his death but how he lived and the joy he brought to our house. I only knew him for a short time, less than 2 years, but in that period we formed quite a bond.
He was very much a traditional cat: left to himself he would spend his time eating, posing elegantly, cleaning himself, sleeping and hunting. He liked to think of himself as macho, but he was a big softy really. He would almost never ask for a cuddle, but when he did receive one unsolicited it triggered an astonishingly loud purr and an inexplicable desire to lovingly chew the cuddler’s ears and nose.
His hunting adventures took him all around the woods near our house, which he found contain a lot of burrs which stuck in his fur. After getting all burry he would come to get de-burred, a process which he didn’t enjoy but always thanked us for.
Although I said he never asked for a cuddle that isn’t strictly true – one of his favourite tricks was to go outside in the rain, get really soggy, then ask one of us to towel him dry. No doubt he would claim that this was a legitimate drying need, but judging by the purring it elicited and the frequency with which he would immediately go out, get wet, and come straight back in we can safely assume it was just a ruse.
I know all this will sound silly if you’ve never had a pet, but I do miss him terribly. I cry every time something newly reminds me of his absence; and I feel the sense of loss every time I open the fridge without him asking for cheese, walk into the kitchen and he’s not on the windowsill, walk past Cerys’s suitcase and he isn’t sleeping on it, eat dinner without him trying to steal it, or finish my cornflakes without him having the last bit of milk. I could go on, but you get the picture.
All we have now are precious memories, a few pictures, and a very short audio recording of one of his howls. We will cherish the little we have, but it will never be enough.