This morning Blondie, one of my fathers two remaining cats died.
He was quite old, not exactly sure how old as he just turned up in the garden one day about 20 years ago, but we reckon he was somewhere between 22 and 25.
Age finally caught up with him, he had been getting slower for the past year, preferring to staying indoors in the warm on his favourite chair more often than not. For the past couple of weeks he had what seemed to be a cold, the vet had put him on antibiotics and he seemed to improve, but at the end of last week he became sick again, this time with some blood coming from his nose and a lack of interest in food and water. He was taken back to the vet with the feeling he would need to be put to sleep, but the vet thought another treatment of antibiotics would help, and after a shaky start did seem to be working, but over the weekend he was not good and this morning was rushed to the vet as soon as they opened and unfortunately had to be put to sleep, which all things considered was the kindest thing.
He was a wiry little bugger who would chase anything including big rats and foxes, he would spend hours outside in the garden watching and hunting, and often brought trophies from his kills or captures inside for everyone to share, he was such a considerate cat!