Blackie,

Blackie

Today I want to tell you about Blackie, it is about time. He has been on my mind a lot lately. In a way Blackie highlights a lot of the problems that, as Cat people, we face. My wife, K, is the real cat person, you cannot change her. I dont think we can change, not really. Oh, we can change what we are, or what we do, we can change jobs or give up smoking (in my case quite a few times!) but who we are is set in stone. K is the cat lady. She helps cats, at any expense. Because I love her and need her, I help her. Sometimes though the emotional price is so high.

Blackie came to us about six months after we lost Taz, we had a phone call from an elderly lady who had seen one of our posters. She had been feeding a stray for a week or so and wondered if it could be Taz. Taz was a mostly white cat, this cat was all black. She knew it wasnt Taz and she knew that we knew that. However she wanted help for the animal and that K would answer that call. So I came back from work to find the bedroom had been appropriated by yet another cat.

This cat was ill, he was about 7 years old, a long thin cat, very friendly but in a lot of pain, so off to the vet we went. A course of anti-biotics followed by the blood tests (which were clear) followed by extensive dental work left him a lot better. He had his injections and found himself neutered. Financially it left us £600 the poorer. His was the most expensive case we have ever had. We did posters of him and sent them out around the neighbourhood and paid for advertisements but no one claimed him. He was someones cat once, where did he come from? It is always a mystery to me.

He settled in with the rest of the furry gang and somehow quickly became my favourite, When I sat down he would plop his head on my lap and the rest of his long body would be draped across the settee. He was content with a stroke and would happily purr all night. He was always the first to greet us, never had a spat with the other cats and would wait quietly for a space to eat instead of barging in like the rest of the cats. He was a true gentleman.

One day I came downstairs and as usual was greeted by Blackie rubbing and loving my leg. I reached down to stroke him and realised that he had swollen up in his back end. My heart sunk. I knew, though I dont know how I knew that this was serious. A quick check satisfied me that there was no bites or scabs. That night I took him to the Vets.

The Vets were worried as well. They are always good to us as they know the financial pressures we are in looking after so many unwanted or unwashed cats. They never burden us with unnecessary costs if they can avoid them. So when they said they needed to keep him in for tests I knew that my worst fears were coming true.

Blackie stayed at the Vets and the following day I got the phone call I was dreading. His kidneys had failed him, there was realistically nothing they could do. I could spend a lot of money and prolong his life for a few more weeks or I could accept the inevitable.

Blackie had een with us only eight months.

It was not the first time we have had to have cats put to sleep. In our 'job' it is inevitable. Win some and lose some. It is always hard, emotionally. I asked the vet to put him to sleep there and then rather then wait for the evening when we could have been with him. I think that is the worst decision I have ever made.

I should have been with him. Just one more time, to fuss him and hear him purr before gently slipping out of this life into a better one. I dont know if I needed this for me or for him... I just feel that I let him down, that, at the last, when he needed a friendly face I failed him.

God bless you, Blackie. You didnt deserve the pain you got in this life. I have never know such a sweet an inoffensive cat.

I miss you so much.