The was to be our last year (plus a few days) with The Cat.

Despite sometimes feeling her age and suffering from sundry age-related health problems, The Cat was probably remarkably well for her age (whatever it was). When asked, from day one she had always maintained that she was 107. 107 what – we don’t know. But if you were to ask her how old she was, 107 was her reply.

There were no more kittens for The Cat, but she was grandmother to Flora’s kittens, born the previous year. Here The Cat sits top left with Flora top right while the kittens tuck in to their dinner. Of the six, Calypso was the closest to her grandmother both as a kitten and adult.

And of course The Cat had recently become a great-grandmother with the arrival of Pascha and Pascal (not that she liked to be reminded of the fact).

And she still liked to be in the middle of everything at feeding time, supervising and watching the comings and goings.

Far from living out her later months in the security of the garden, napping under the fruit trees and watching the world go by, it would seem that The Cat was still venturing out to the fields. And that was how she came to lose her life on the road at dawn one morning. Maybe she was a little deaf and didn’t hear the vehicle – we will never know.

In a strange way, it was a comfort to know that she was doing something she wanted to do, living her independent, feral-cat life, doing cattish stuff, and that she hadn’t suffered a protracted illness or some degenerative disease.

And life in the garden continued – it had to. There were always new cats and kittens who needing looking after, and The Cat’s family would continue through Flora and Pippin 🐾❤️