Highs and lows; peaks and troughs - that is life.
Our little cat Stimpy died this morning. She had been flagging since the house move and never recovered from the upheaval of yet another new home. We acquired her from the Cat's Protection League fourteen years ago, a manky scrat of a thing with a lump missing from her ear and a nasty mouth infection that gave her grim breath. She had been feral, spayed too young and remained a timid small thing. She fled in fear of anyone except Mrs Acular and I (she never fully warmed to the Twins). She had next to no voice so her 'meows' were a little less than you might expect. Never a crossed claw and never once angry or aggressive, she was a cat who loved the garden and being outside. Well, I say that - we have witnessed her seeing off huge tomcats who dared to stray too close. Then she was a lunatic, and violent too.
But she was our cat. She was part of our family. She was loved and she loved back, in her own way. I tend to spend my free evenings horizontal on my settee, and the normal place for Stimpson T. Catte was on my chest with her quiet purr that was barely audible. She liked to head-butt me into submission, so I had no real choice about my chest passenger. Only my chest - no-one else's, ever.
And now she is gone, our little cat. And it is horrible.