A cat called Friskers

When I started this blog in the summer I said I wanted to use it to write about anything I felt like writing. And today is one of those days but I wish it wasn’t. Today’s blog isn’t about archaeology. Or travel. Or cycling. Or cooking. It’s about a cat called Friskers. A ginger cat. A cat who was, yes was, a much-loved, cuddly, purring, meowing, waking-me-up-at-5am kind of cat. But today was his last. He had achy joints and arthritis, needed painkillers and was getting old. He needed help to get down off the fence in the garden, normally from a place I could barely get to, and every time I’d give him a pat and say ‘there you go old chap’. He was sweet and always ready for a pat and a purr, and would spend the evening curled up on a lap or by a leg. But the last week saw him decline rapidly and today the vet discovered a tumour and nothing they could do about it. So tonight our house isn’t the same and its four human occupants heartbroken. He was a super cat and I’ll miss him but I’m glad it was our house he called home. Thank you Friskie.

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