Our beloved littlest kitteh, Squee, died suddenly on Tuesday. She was not quite three years old, and in brilliant health.
That morning though she was limping and had a lump on her leg, so we took her to the vet to find out what was wrong. He recommended an x-ray, and put her under anaesthetic to take it. She stopped breathing and could not be revived.
I had last seen her properly before work when she cuddled up to me as I sat on the couch and ate breakfast, with her front paws and her face resting on my leg. Keri brought her past work on her way to the vet and I patted her through the cage, having no idea that there was even any possibility that I wouldn’t be seeing her again in an hour or so.
She was seriously the best cat. Something Wonky listeners will know her for her occasional loud exchanges with Max, but she was the perfect mix of affectionate and inquisitive; brave and loving. She would sit in doorways and watch everything that was going on with her alert, wise little eyes. She figured out how to use TV remotes, doors – you know that scene in Jurassic Park where the music swells menacingly as the raptors demonstrate they’ve figured out how to operate doors? That. And often.
She was clever, and sweet.
Please read Keri’s recollections, which give you an idea of just some of the awesome things our little Spider Squee used to do.
It’s really hard not only because of all the what-ifs – the obvious one being if we hadn’t taken her to the vet at all, or had just taken her home with anti-inflammatories (which is easy to say in hindsight although at the time it quite reasonably seemed that the x-ray was the best option for her health) she’d still be alive, with at least another decade to spend with us – but also because she really was an unprecedentedly awesome kitteh. We love our Polly and Max, of course, and they are also irreplaceable – but they don’t replace Squee either. She really was amazing.
I wish you could have known her.
We buried her yesterday afternoon in the garden she loved to explore, under a rose bush that she would have liked to nibble at.
Farewell our beloved little Squeeblee. We will always miss you.
UPDATE: When you first met her.
When she wanted to fly.
In retrospect, I apologise for not writing more posts about Squee. Her antics surely deserved it.