Born in a neighbouring field to The Cat along with two siblings, Pedal and Sprocket, Ratchet was the most like her mother in appearance being tortoiseshell, but having a beautiful black eye-mask. Names had already been chosen by one of the humans and were allotted on a first-come, first-served basis as the little family appeared in the field at the age of six weeks.

Official names given, kittens then receive a ‘character name’ as their individual characters becomes apparent. Ratchet’s came first of the three kittens, her head tilted to one side, quizzically observing the humans on the terrace above. Funny Girl. It suited her. She wasn’t as long for this World as her siblings and in retrospect it was fitting that she had her name first of the three.

The little family played, learned, went on expeditions with their Mamma and generally wormed their way into the humans’ hearts. All resolutions not to encourage more cats to the garden by feeding them soon went out the window. So food and water was supplied. It was a particularly hot Summer and it would have been unkind not to.

All three kittens seemed equal in development although it was noticeable that Ratchet slept a lot and her breathing was harder and faster than the others. But it had always been like that. Maybe it was a clue to some birth defect which was soon to manifest itself more physically.

Between three and four months of age, Pedal and Sprocket put on a growing spurt which didn’t seem matched by Ratchet. One Sunday morning at feeding time she was found huddled on her own, under a cactus. She allowed a human to approach and touch her – something none of them would have done under normal circumstances. She was obviously very unwell. The humans did their best to encourage her to eat from their fingers, drink some water, encouraged her Mamma to stimulate her smallest kitten with a good cleaning. But it wasn’t enough. That afternoon she lay on the verandah, her sister curled around her. Suddenly there seemed such a difference between them, their size, their breathing. Ratchet looked very small and very vulnerable.

That evening, Ratchet sat under a pile of twigs under the olive tree, breathing hard, little gasps. Her family sat around in a sad semi-circle – her Mamma, her big brother Ana Half-Tail, her siblings Pedal and Sprocket. We left them in peace to say their goodbyes and keep the smallest family member company as Nature helped her on her way.

We found Ratchet the following morning. She had managed to walk a few feet to where the moonlight would have come through the branches. There she lay down for the last time.

Her final resting place is nearby with her initials RFG carved into the stone wall. Ratchet Funny Girl. Much missed. Still is. Always will be. And never forgotten.