She was just a cotton-puff with pink ears and a short pointy tail when we got her, somebody else’s unwanted pet (the baby brother decided he would much prefer a puppy). My mother said no way did she want another cat, no, we were not allowed. But then she saw her.
She used to climb curtains.
She used to walk across the top of the birdcage and the budgies would bite her feet.
She used to come running when she heard our car approach.
She used to burrow under the bedclothes and sleep in the crook of my knees. And bite me if I moved.
She used to knock the decorations off the Christmas tree.
She used to sleep with her tail in the electric heater so we would come home to the stench of scorched cat hair.
She taught my sister’s kids how to be gentle with animals.
She used to shed like you wouldn’t believe.
She used to purr like it was going out of style.
She used to come and wake me up when it was breakfast time.
She used to sleep under a mangled pine tree in the garden.
For 18 years, she was our good friend. She had a great cat-onality, and she remained our Willow right to the end. Needless to say, my family and I loved her.
Willow, I’m going to miss you.