Requiescat

Felix

Latin, adj. What we are, just now, emphatically not.

The neighbours knocked on the door yesterday morning; they'd found poor DC deceased at the side of the road, presumably having been hit by a car. She'd never been happy wearing a collar, so we shouldn't be upset that the driver didn't come knocking; in fact, she spent a lot of time with the neighbours, so it was almost appropriate that they should find her.

We adopted DC as a kitten from a farm in North Yorkshire; a good friend had told us of the new litter of feral kittens on her dad's dairy farm. DD was only a few month's old, so we thought we'd just go for the ride and the scenery, but gracefully decline the feline component. Superficial and shallow beings that we are, though, we were smitten by the kitten, and changed our minds.

She was truly a cat that walked by herself, but that just made the times she would snuggle up next to you all the more special. She played beautifully with DD - she'd bat us instead if things got too rough, as though to say 'Keep your child in order'. The neighbours are moving to Ireland, and gave us their birdtable. It was a sight to see DC hunched under the little slopy roof, pretending to be a breadcrumb... The evening before she died, she'd taken up residence in the laundry basket. What could be comfier than freshly-washed nappies? Wherever she is now, may there be hot and cold running mice.

It's all a load of bollocks, so bollocks to it all!