Yesterday I had to put down Jule, my loyal companion of eleven years and the cat Curry’s based on.
Her end was a bit of a bad surprise: It wasn’t her cancer that killed her, but a skin infection. In less than ten days she went from a frail but happy cat to a limping cripple with an open wound that just wouldn’t heal and eventually we ran out of things we could do for her. Well, but for one: The last, tough decision to end it and spare her more pain.
Jule was with me through the hardest bit of my life and through the best; a quiet, loyal and steadfast presence with a fondness for sleeping on my butt, getting petted behind and in her ears and eating butter, preferably licked from my fingers. I quite literally owe that cat my life, I wouldn’t be here today without her; although that is a story not to be told quite yet.
I miss her, and so does my other cat, who runs through our home looking for his feline friend. Cat’s don’t love as exuberant as dogs do, but a cat’s love is nonetheless very real; they just use a different language.
The next page will be on Sunday. I apologise for the delay.