My furry 'rock'

by Madeleine Taylor
(New Brunswick, Canada)

November 1994 was when I first carried home a little black and white bundle from our local branch of the RSPCA in Gloucestershire, England. This was to be a Christmas gift for my eleven year old daughter Sarah, who had come with me and chosen the kitten herself. She had wanted a boy, and planned to call him Paddy. It was to be a bittersweet Christmas that year, as my husband and I had parted so it was our first Christmas on our own. With Paddy to play with though, it was not so bad and he certainly helped make that time easier for us all. In the spring, we all moved from our big house to a small cottage. Paddy grew strong and healthy, but remained slight and dainty, and when it was time to have him neutered I was perplexed as there did not seem much evidence of what was to be removed!! Our contractor put us right - he was not so much Paddy as Patsy. She grew into a ferocious hunter, engaging playmate and at night she would announce her presence by jumping on the bed, purring loudly and always settle by sleeping right on top of us, whether she chose Sarah or me!!
The years passed, Sarah grew up and left home for university. Patsy seemed to have a number of different names given to her by my eldest daughter and various friends who would come to stay. I started to call her Sweetie Pie, Cutie Pie etc, and then that name seemed to stick, Pie.
I met another partner and we moved to France together. Pie of course came too. We had a pretty cottage with an apple orchard through which a trout river ran. Pie loved to try her luck stalking the muskrats that made their home in the banks, and nearly every day she would bring us breakfast of mice and voles - just right with a slice of crusty French bread!!
This relationship too did not last - I had to leave. I came to Canada, alone again, and started over. I did have Pie with me though and even in the middle of the deepest darkest night I would feel her weight on my chest and hear her purrs and know things would work out somehow.
In April this year I finally received my immigrant status and my business was proving to be a success. I was caressing Pie one day and felt a small lump between her shoulder blades. It got bigger, so I took her to the vets and had it removed. The lump was sent away for a biopsy and the diagnosis came back, vaccination site sarcoma, a rare condition and triggered by what we believe to be doing the right thing for our pets, protecting them from disease, what a supreme irony. The lump grew back bigger than ever and during the warm wet summer Pie was still as active and lively as ever and I pushed to the back of my mind what I knew was to come. The morning after Halloween - all Souls Day - she didn't get out of her basket, didn't want to eat or drink. The last two nights I sat up with her, keeping the fire going while she lay on the sheepskin cushion I bought her as her 'welcome to Canada' present.
I took her to the vet and held her as she slipped into her final sleep.
I am having a cottage built now I am here to stay, and in a sunny corner where I have planted roses, lavender and catmint (her absolute favourite), Pie's ashes will lie - at home.

My darling 'rock' of strength. Pie 1994 - 2009