My cat Perdy died today (well, I should say our – I found out my wife had acquired her more or less when she appeared in the house). She had been in decline for the last 12 months or so. We “inherited” her years ago from a young couple we know who were at the time starting a family, and Perdy’s habit of sitting on everything was a bit too much for new parents. Her exact age was uncertain, though we reckon she was at least 16 years old. The last few months were the usual old age problems of not cleaning herself properly, losing a bit of mobility etc, but she still managed to get stuck behind the kitchen units a couple of weeks ago.
Before that she did the usual cat things, sitting on anything you wanted to read, sitting on my computer keyboard, climbing wherever possible. She also did a few different things like being very vocal, never scratched, liked getting her tummy tickled, and at times liked to climb on my shoulders. She illustrated some of the real cat attributes of offsiding (always being on the other side of a door) and played cat chess with the other cats in the street. I think she shared the house with us for about 10 years. And for those who know me, the fact she was black fitted in with my casual wardrobe. I’m not exactly macho in admitting, but I think I was quite attached to the daft cat. I’m quite sad about it.