Saffy

 It is just over two years since we lost our sweet little black panther, Alfie, at the all-too-soon age of 9. Just when that resulting weight in my chest was starting to diminish, when glancing at the photo of him in the office no longer induced tears and a sudden twist in my guts, just when peace was returning, we have had to say goodbye to Saffy.

Saffy was Alfie’s (almost) polar opposite: black (but with a secret white belly patch), shorted-legged and all-round sturdier than Alfie’s slimline, long-limbed shape; Alfie was noisy and demanding, his meows long and plaintive, his desperation for food loud and animated while Saffy’s meows were gentle, almost apologetic in their delivery. The last time we put the cats (we still had four then) into a cattery when we went on holiday, Saffy went missing when we brought them home upon our return. This was not a one or two-day protest by her: she stayed out for nigh-on two weeks. That was two weeks of anxiety for us, the Facebook post asking for help in finding her, the walking up and down Callender Street calling her name, the cold fear after 10 or so days that we might have seen her for the last time. Then, one Saturday or Sunday morning sitting in bed reading, I heard the the smallest, politest meow coming from the landing outside our bedroom. I turned to Elaine - “Saffy’s home” I said. The relief was sweet indeed!

Saffy was health personified and that makes her sudden demise all the harder. I can’t remember taking her to the vet beyond a worry a couple of years ago when she suddenly developed a bald area on her nose. It turned out to be nothing and she carried on in her healthy, beautiful way. Our understanding of the condition that got her, oral squamous cell carcinoma, was just about the worst that could have happened to her: fast growing and brutal. That such a gentle cat succumbed to that is just so, so unfair.

Anyway, I had to mark the passing of a cat with a blog entry for someone I loved for thirteen years. She was frustratingly (and wonderfully) independent (going missing for two days at a time was normal for her but never felt normal for us) but home-loving in the last few years, aloof but super-loving when she jumped on us to make biscuits - early evening on my stomach, 3 o’clock in the morning on Elaine’s side after arriving on the bed with her little chirrup.

One of the first times I touched her fur, when she was still a seemingly angry little bundle defiance, I marvelled at how soft her fur was. I named her the Velveteen Kitten there and then.  As she passed on Thursday, holding her paw, stroking her and comforting her, I once again felt that lovely kitten softness and my heart broke a little bit more.

I wasn't ready for this. that was my beautiful baby girl!