On Tuesday morning, suffering from jetlag, my body telling me it was only 4 am in Malaysia, I drove to the cattery where we had left Cleo and Gershwin for their annual holiday. But I drove with only one cage in the back seat of the car. Whilst in Malaysia, we learned that Gershwin had made it into 2010, turned 17, then went to sleep and didn’t wake up.
We knew it was coming, and so I was okay when I was told. Gershwin had been diagnosed with advanced renal failure about six or seven months ago, so we’d discussed arrangements with the cattery before we left. The cattery was to bury him, under the trees, in their peaceful green valley. But we hadn’t really expected it would happen in the two weeks we were away.
Driving home though, with Cleo crying plaintively and alone in the back seat, I realised we would both be forever without Gershwin’s quiet presence. And I cried too.