Our awesome little cat, Estherswitz the Original Bin Kitty, has been diagnosed with cancer. The vet gives her about two months. We are very sad, especially as she probably won’t be alive when we get back from Germany.
She’s been with me since 1996 when I was living on my own at Churchill Road during the first year of my PhD, and Louise was living in Marian Place and then in Devonport Terrace, both close by. So she’s always been part of our family, our cat, the very first thing we did together, even before we went overseas together. She moved in with us to Montpelier Street in 1997 after we got married, and has been with us in every place since, staying with Kate and Mike, Hilary and Greg (and others too?) when we went away, had a string quartet written for her, and more recently had a two-year stint with Paul and Anna during our Solomons stay.
So, she’s gotten to the age of 13 (1996-2009), which is about normal for tortoiseshell females, and makes her 68 in human terms. She’s always been little, she’s always been sweet, and most of all, she’s always been there, predating travel, engagement, marriage, house, PhD, career, kids, everything. She’s been the classic fur kid, the faithful family retainer.
Louise and I have agreed we are going to spoil her rotten with the time remaining.