On Mon, 14 Mar 2005 19:49:59 +0000 (UTC), wrote:

Read about how some people feel about them. Word to the wise, don't
shoot the wrong person's cat.

Snipe

A cat owner in the UK wrote:

I am so terribly sorry to announce the passing of my precious
17-year-old feline friend, Tava.



Anyone who knew Tava or knows me well will be aware of how utterly
devastated I am by his massive loss. He was an extraordinary cat with
an amazing personality, a tremendous zest for life and the ability
naturally to charm anyone who crossed his path, for he adored everyone
he met and the new experiences they brought. He even enjoyed going to
the vet as he delighted in looking out the window on the journey there,
and he sat peacefully in the waiting room watching all the adventures
around him.

Tava enhanced my life when he blessed it with his arrival in October
1987. My mother rang to say that she was bringing me an adorable
bubbly chocolate Persian kitten who, despite having just been wrenched
from his mother, littermates, home and the world he knew by being
placed into a moving vehicle for the first time and driven off by a
stranger, just wouldn't stop playing. He was enchanted by every
experience, even at that young age, and never shed that youthful
outlook.

My darling boy was warm, loving and so beautifully behaved that he
instilled some discipline into my life, waking me each morning after I
slept through all the alarms, and encouraging me to go to bed at a
decent hour by leaping onto the bed and curling up on the pillow next
to me until I dropped off to sleep. Even though, once he became
arthritic, this meant that he would have to wake me again so that I
could put him gently on the floor before he padded off to his own bed,
it was still a pleasure that I relished, and there was nothing
comparable to Tava's gentle whisper of a meow directly into my ear.

When he lost his sight just after Christmas, his soft voice from the
floor still managed to rouse me every morning, and he quickly learned
his way around so ably that it was easy to forget he had any
disability. He remained fiercely independent whenever I tried to steer
him, but he would often quietly call out just to make sure that I was
there should he need me.

I needed him much, much more. Tava led me through the challenges of
university, the turmoil of a move to the UK when his magnetism
captivated those at the cattery, and numerous house moves where he was
the first to settle in. His vibrancy and devoted love uplifted me
during an awful marriage-and the easily resisted demands of my
ex-husband to get rid of the cats!-as well as the difficult divorce
and the more recent nearly unbearable death of my father. After that
dire event, Tava would regularly respond to my wailing by shaking off
his nap, rising and slowly leading his aging bones to enquire after my
well-being, thus instantly melting away a significant amount of my
pain.


The appalling sorrow I'm feeling now is the first bout of misery I
have had to suffer without my precious Tavisham here to look after me,
to push away all the scary demons and bring a smile to my face.
Fortunately, his memory is powerful.

He was an amazing trouper who surely stunned the vets each time they
diagnosed something worrying, including kidney disease, by defying any
poor prognosis. Unfortunately, this let me begin to believe he was
invincible.

Sadly, on Saturday night, he suffered an extremely violent seizure
and, although he recovered fairly impressively and welcomed his
favourite forehead-rubs, he began looking for a hiding place in the
wee hours. Bearing in mind that my last conversation with my father
had him asking if Tava would have somewhere to go to be alone like
outdoor cats did, I decided to leave my angelic furry boy in peace even
though I would have preferred to follow him everywhere, though I stayed
nearby. By Sunday morning, he was lying weak in the doorway of his
favourite room, purring all morning as I lay beside him to keep him
happy and warm. Sadly, his condition worsened, and although I can
barely face the huge loss now permeating our home, I know that if ever
a cat deserved to make it to Heaven, it would be my beloved Tava, and
I'm sure my father is looking after him now.

Tava is also survived by his 'stepson' Darryl, a 16-year-old
pewter Persian who is missing him terribly but looking after me
impressively well in the circumstances.



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Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.
H. L. Mencken