Scout

Today was a tough day. A friend clipped Scout with her car. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but he ran away and it took us nearly half an hour to find him. I kept calling him, but he didn't make a sound. Finally when my friend asked me to tell her what sort of cat he was, I knew where he would be. He's a home boy and I knew he would try to get as close to the front door as possible. And there he was, hidden under the hedge, by the gate, looking at me mournfully. As soon as he saw me he miaowed and I carefully lifted him up, cradled him in a towel and we rushed him to the vets.

I really thought he would be fine. That perhaps he had broken a leg. But it turns out he wasn't and the vet told me the kindest thing to do would be to put him to sleep. It broke my heart to say goodbye. No more jumping up on my shoulders to drape himself around my neck, no more happy hellos with a raised paw, no more burrowing under the duvet.

So this is Scout after I brought him home, before I dug a hole at the bottom of the garden where the sun shines most and buried him. Blue jumped up and sat by him until I took him away and then would not settle for the rest of the day.

I was absolutely dreading telling Murron when she returned home. She and Scout were like two peas in a pod, particularly as she had helped me to hand rear him from three weeks old. She was very upset, but very stoic. I had kept the fur shaved from his leg for that final injection and saw that she had carefully put it in a wee box by her bed.