Felix runs out of lives and luck today. His bulging cheek diagnoses out as a big tumour, and Dad makes the decision to have him put to sleep while he's still under sedative for the examination. The Vet says it is a good decision and that she'd have done the same if it was her own cat.
Dad collects him and brings him home after work, and prepares a burial hole in the old chicken run alongside the damson bush. When Mum gets home they bury him, still in the towel from the basket in which he went to the Vet. It's a shady spot down there among the fruit trees, so they will plant suitable plants to mark the spot - probably anenomes and woodruff
Felix had a good, healthy, long and happy life, and a dignified, pain free end. You can't really ask for more than that for a cat, can you?
I was confused and curious when the basket came home, and had to go have a look and a sniff where Dad put it on the terrace table. I couldn't understand why Felix would not come out, and I sniffed him again as he was being carried down the garden. He was a good friend and an endless source of chase games and larking to me, especially when I was younger - suddenly breaking into a scampering run up the garden or up the stairs, easily outpacing me, especially on the slippery laminate floors.
You were a good mate, Felix, and I'll miss you.
Deefs
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