Setting off early this morning for one of my longer hill walks, it being a few days since my last jaunt, I noticed one of my cats, Sergio, laying down under the laurel tree at the bottom of the garden. He was in a totally relaxed position, in much the same way as he would stretch out in front of our fire. There was no sign of blood or any injury, but he was definitely dead. With a very heavy heart I dug a grave in our garden and laid him to rest, taking a small sample of black and white fur as a keepsake. There were no tears (not yet at least); just a sudden and total draining of energy and an overpowering feeling of sadness. Added to which was the horrible sinking feeling of knowing I would have to give the news to my wife, who is away in the West Bank at the present time, due back home tomorrow night.
Sergio was just over 3 years old- not much of an age for a cat- our last cat lived to the magnificent age of 21. But I think he had a good life, much pampered in our home. We are down to one cat now. Will he pine for his brother? I have already noticed him staring out of the French windows into the garden, so I think it's possible he will.
After burying Sergio, I got my car out of the garage that opens on to the back lane. There, for the second time in a fortnight, someone had left a huge pile of garden refuse and old mattresses in the lane, completely blocking it. I did not have the energy or motivation to move it there and then; fortunately there are 2 routes of access out onto the street so I took the other route. Later I shall call the "101" line to report the crime, but I am not optimistic about it being removed quickly: the last lot of rubbish is still piled up along the walls, waiting for collection 2 weeks after a neighbour had called the "fly-tipping" line.
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