Someone mentioned our assistant in a comment. I’ve been avoiding dealing with this because it remains painful and I didn’t want to concentrate on it, but here goes.

Unbelievably it is six months since our dear Tuppence died. She never actually belonged to us but we certainly belonged to her. In a common situation with cats she didn’t get on with her owner’s other feline pet. It didn’t make it any better that it was her own daughter who bullied her. She was a tiny cat but she gave birth to big, strapping daughters and sons.

When Smartie, our former assistant, died Tuppence moved in. She would be waiting in the kitchen window in the morning. She would have a handful of treats and a drink of water then off to bed. At first we called her McTavish, then were told her real name, Tuppence, which could not have been more appropriate.

Over the years we have known many cats: several tabbies and calicos and a couple of Siamese. They’ve all been lovely and characters but Tuppence stood out. For such a little cat she had a huge fund of affection. She knew she was loved and she loved us right back. She was the friend of every child who passed though the street. Fearless where people were concerned, she believed every door should be open to her – and most were. She wasn’t a lap cat but would be content to sit on the arm of the chair and be companionable.

She had the most beautiful slanted emerald eyes and unlike many animals met your gaze. There always seemed to be a depth of understanding between us. She relaxed around the house with us all day, sharing our meals and our company, and went home at night. The lady who owned her (in so far as one can own a cat) left the window open for her to come home.

One day in the run-up to Christmas Tuppence didn’t appear. Nor the next day. I went to her owner’s flat to enquire. Tuppence had died in her sleep. It seemed (and still seems) unbelievable that that personality, that charming spirit was gone. We had always taken her to be middle-aged as she was super fit and playful as a kitten. She was thirteen; not terribly old for a cat but old enough for Tuppence to have finished her sojourn here.

For various reasons we can no longer have a pet of our own. Maybe another cat needing a refuge will share our days again but it is unlikely. If there are no more after Tuppence we had best for last.