A Gallant Gentleman Cat

Yesterday was tough. Monday January 21st was officially declared the be Black Monday - the most depressing day of the year, but yesterday had it beaten. And it wasn't helped by having been there before just a few months ago. Because yesterday we lost another cat. The next eldest after Bob and losing two old dear friends in 3 months is hard.

When Bob died in September, Anne McAllister wrote about him on her blog, She also mentioned the other cats and described black and white Spiffy (a bi-coloured magpie cat, he would have told you) this way:Spiff is kind and gallant and that about summed him up really. But Spiffy had been having trouble breathing and when x rays and examinations revealed a tumour blocking his windpipe and another growing in his chest, his age (16) plus the fact that the position of one of them meant that it couldn't possibly be removed meant that it was time for a gentle exit. One that fitted the gallant and gentle cat he was.

16 years ago the Offspring was helping out in the local RSPCA. When he came home he told me about a beautiful white kitten needing a home. Inevitably, I ended up in the RSPCa a few days later, planning on adopting the white kitten. I didn't. Inevitably the beautiful white kitten had already gone to a good home. But there, on the top shelf of a row of cages was a tiny, scruffy, smelly little black and white kitten, looking almost too small to cope with life. He had been found with his brothers and sisters in a sack in the river and only just rescued in time. 'That's the one' said the BM who was with me. And so Ivan came home with us.

Yes - Ivan. At that point that was what the Offspring named him. The Spiffy bit came later. He might have been tiny (then), too tiny even to really know how to wash himself properly, which was why he was bit smelly, but he grew. And grew and grew. He soon outstripped Bob who was just a year or so older. And he became a brave and loving cat - pretty Spiffy as the BM said. And the name stuck. So much so that when we took him to the vet the first couple of times there was some confusion. I had taken the originally named Ivan for his first injections, later the BM took him for necessary operation and said he was Spiffy. So for a while the vet thought we had two identical cats - one who had had all his injections and the other who had had 'the snip'.

But Spiffy was the name that stuck, the name that suited him. He was always second cat. Bob was the Alpha and all cats in the household knew that. But Spiffy didn't care. He was more than happy in the lower ranks. No responsibilities, no worries. He was free to be the gentle, easy going purrer that suited his nature. He was a warm and genial host to all vistiors, coming to greet them as soon as they arrived and investigating their shoes. Spiffy loved shoes - and feet - if he could sit at your feet and rub his head all over your shoes then he was happy. And if you had a handbag as well then he was in ecstasy.

Not being Alpha cat also meant that he had no trouble with new arrivals - there was young Poppy who later ran away because she hated the house move we made (a move that Spiffy of course took in his stride), there was Dylan and Sid. It was Spiffy who brought Sid into the house in the first place. We opened the door and Bob came in, then Dylan - and Spiffy with a (then) strange black tabby. You could almost hear him saying 'This is my friend Sid - it's OK if he stays isn't it?' And you just knew that outside, where they'd met, he would have told Sid, 'Stray are you? Well, not to worry - my humans are good with waifs and strays, they'll find room for you.'

Spiffy was also the schoolchildren's cat. The kids who walked past up the road towards the school were always greeted warmly by him and he knew just when to go outside in the morning and again in the afternoon to get the maximum number of strokes and head rubs from the maximum number of children. He could take any amount of love and fuss. When three special friends, Anna, Julie and Biddy, first came to stay and were all sharing a room, he soon worked out that if he visited when they were in bed, and lay across the middle one then he could also get the best possible attention from each one at either side. He was in bliss.

Spiffy loved a box - or a bin. It didn't matter if it was big or small, high or low, somehow he folded himself up into it and purred his delight. He loved Christmas when he could get out of his head on catnip and then sleep it off afterwards with his best friend Bob. He was the one cat who would accept things like wearing a fancy hat as part of the Christmas card - if his Mum wanted him to wear a hat, then that was fine with him. He was good with little people too - when Julie Cohen's almost one year old visited at Christmas he was there to greet and entertain. He understood that small people don't yet quite know the ropes and tolerated having his head patted and his tail grabbed with gracious equanimity.

Four years ago he was poisoned by something he ate or drank. He was very ill for a week but Michelle the vet looked after him and he came to adore her. Each time he went for check ups, booster injections, if he heard her voice he was up and out of the cat carrier. rubbing his head against her hand, wanting more fuss. Even yesterday, when he was struggling, as soon as he heard her his head came up and the purrs started. So it was a comfort to know that it was 'his vet' who could do the last thing he needed and help him out of his distress.

If we're talking of heroes then Spiffy was no James Bond sort of cat, no adventurer or handsome devil may care playboy. He was a Gary Cooper sort of cat, big, quiet, laconic and a perfect gentleman. A very gallant and gentleman cat. Even aging and ailing he welcomed Flora the Flirt into his home and tolerated her bouncing kisses, her pouncing on his tail with - I swear - an understanding smile. Yesterday when he wasn't in his bed by the fire, first Sid and then Flora went looking for him and were obviously worried when they couldn't find him.

I'm not surprised. They'll miss him as much as we will.

Second cat he might have been but never ever second best.

As the BM always said, he was a top shelf sort of cat right from the start.