A prince among cats.
My beautiful black furry baby is coming to the end of his days.
Harry Bear has a cancer on his neck which has infiltrated his bones making an operation pointless.
Yesterday we noticed his gait starting to become unsteady, his back legs not performing as they should.
It's just a matter of time now before the gap closes between him just being; an old cat that sleeps a lot and an unwell cat that has no quality life left. I won't see him suffer. I love him too much. I believe taking care of the end of my pet's life is as important as feeding and playing with him during his life. Don't get me wrong, I'm no hard hearted owner. I know I am going to be torn apart when he is no longer here, but I also know he deserves a noble and dignified end to his life.
He has given us so much pleasure, along with his brother, Badger. They were born on the 2nd May 1997, the cat rescue lady told us they had a grey sister too but she didn't survive. they used to run around the house like little furry trains, round the kitchen, across all the chairs in the front room, up the stairs, under the beds, down the stairs, over and over again. So funny to see.
If you were to roll up a crisp packet and tie it in a knot and throw it, Harry would fetch it and drop it at your feet to be thrown again. He and Badger loved to sit on plastic bags and newspapers. Occasionally I would make a tunnel out of a broadsheet newspaper, wait for the cats to notice it, then watch them diving through the thin sheets, paws tap-tap-tapping blindly at some imagined prey.
Harry managed to catch a couple of birds in his time, despite being fitted with as many as 4 bells to try and save the local sparrow population, the only evidence he was a killer were little bird legs on the dining room floor.
Once I remember we lost him for about 2 days, hunted high and low, walked the streets, put notes through nearby letterboxes. I had resigned myself to the fact he must have been run over, I was in the garden having a cigarette, tears in my eyes. Out of habit I whistled the special whistle which all my children (real and adopted!) and pets respond to. Then I heard his meow response. it took a few minutes to pin point where the sound was coming from, eventually we realised he was locked in next door's shed. He was a bit thin but fine. A couple of weeks later, he did exactly the same thing again!
I remember when Nelly was a baby, strapped into one of those harnesses you hang from the door frame to let baby have a bounce. Harry was so tall, he reached her shoulder and took great pleasure in walking past her spinning her round and round, which she of course loved!
So many happy memories, most of all I think I will miss his meow and stroking his thick silky fur.
I love you Harry Bear.
