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She will never be forgotten.
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Bueseli is Swiss German for "little cat". I didn't want to give her a real name because I didn't want to allow myself to fall in love. I couldn't have a cat, I'm allergic to cats. Of course I was lost from the first moment I laid eyes on her.We first saw her fast asleep on the roof of our garden shed. She was a beauty - a small tabby with a ginger spot on top of her head, a creamy, gingery ruff and a spotted tummy. I called out to her, she jumped down and wandered across the garden to say hello.
We saw a lot of her in the following weeks, and wondered who she belonged to. She had recently been spayed, the fur was still growing back on her flank, so somebody must have taken her to the vet. She spent more and more time with us, streaking across our front lawn from somewhere whenever we got home, and walking in the front door ahead of us as though she belonged.
I didn't feed her on principle, I don't think it's fair feeding other people's cats - but I must confess to giving her all the love she seemed to want so much. She looked well enough cared for, but I did notice she was getting thinner, and one morning she came in the kitchen when I was making breakfast, and cried. My principles crumbled, and as I had some pate in the fridge she had breakfast with me.
The next day she walked in through the open back door with a tiny mouse in her mouth. She came right into the lounge, dropped it on the carpet in front of us and said "meaow?" We replied "yes of course you can live with us if you want to", she picked the mouse up again, took it back into the kitchen and ate it, tail and all.
We had two wonderful years together, and the joy she gave us more than made up for my sneezing and wheezing. She was the most loving, gentle, affectionate little cat you can imagine, and she was happiest when we picked her up and held her between us - her mum and dad, her little family.
On the 23rd of July 2001, I went home for lunch and she wasn't around, which was unusual. I called, nothing. I started walking round the neighbourhood calling her name, still nothing. I went back inside, heard a noise from the back door, and felt a rush of relief - but it was only the blind being caught by the wind.
Only then did I notice the message light on the answerphone. I played the message. A kind voice said "I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news." and I knew. She had been hit by a car and the couple across the road found her dead on their drive. They kept her safe for us - my heart gave a mad lurch when I heard the word, but of course it only meant that they had her little body in a box waiting for us to pick her up and bury her in the back garden. We bought a little lantern and we put a candle out for her every night. It still hurts more than I can say.
In Loving Memory of Bueseli Copyright © Peps Turler
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