A loving story

Both Floozie and her son Chevvie have managed to wheedle their way into my heart. I was angry because I thought KeKe meant them as replacements for Tizit. After this blog there is going to be a vote as to who writes the blog as it has always been a blog written from an animal's perspective and not a human one. So tomorrow I will post the candidates and you can vote and choose. I received this email and I thought it pertinent to everyone. We have had a tough two years with animals and I didn't want anymore ... we lost four cats, almost lost Treacle and our six guinea pigs eaten by a fox. I didn't think there was any space left in my heart for another animal but I was wrong. It was too early and I am too tired and too ill. But somehow or other the loudest purr in the world in my ear at 3am and to watch Floozie go from a frightened little animal to a comedian has been worth it. Sometimes love is not instant, sometimes fear blocks love and ultimately love wins over. And finally I had to go and have a tetanus shot because Chevvie bit right through my arm in the elbow joint!

I am sorry you are not feeling too happy with your two new cats. I know how hard it is as in the past have had all the hissing and spitting and carry on that goes with a new mum coming into the house where there are other animals. I still bear the scars when I was bitten terribly on the hand by a mum who thought I was going to touch her baby. But it is not the cats fault they came to live with you and Kees was trying to fill a gap, maybe a little too soon. These words are ones we are having at David's mums funeral on Tuesday. I am sure you know them but they count the same for dead pussies as they do for dead mothers.

"You can shed tears that she is gone, or you can smile because she has lived. You can close your eyes and pray that she''ll come back, or you can open your eyes and see all she's left. Your heart can be empty because you can't see her. or you can be full of the love you shared. You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday, or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday. You can remember her only that she is gone, or you can cherish her memory and let it live on. You can cry and close your mind. be empty and turn your back. Or you can do what she'd want; smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

When I first took in my last dog Sheba, we already had a wonderfully funny loving little shaggy mongrel called Dibbles. Dibbles was rescued a few days old from a field where she had been dumped and chewed by rats. She was full of maggots and her tail had been cut off and was just a ragged stump. Dibbles was about to be put to sleep by my friend Wendy a PDSA nurse. Instead she put aside the syringe and began washing the maggots out of the huge wound on Dibbles back. I happened to be there and saw this happening. Three months later Dibbles came to live with us.

Sheba was a stray on Wanstead flats. It took Wally Probyn, the man who rescued her over a year to catch her. When she came to us she had been homed with a lovely couple of retired schoolmistresses but had escaped and run away. She was nervous and distraught without Wally but he was unable to keep her in the top floor flat he had in London's East End. I spent a week out every night trying to find Sheba and eventually she ran back to the old ladies and jumped on their bed. They slept every night with their back door open hoping she would return. She came to us because we had a walled garden and she could not escape.

I tell you this story because one day I was at the vets and another nurse friend Debbie and I were talking. "You don't like Sheba do you" she said to me. I had not said so but obviously my tone or something I had said conveyed this to her. It stopped me in my tracks and really made me think. She was right. Sheba was a scared little dog who looked more like a fox. She did not know how to play and was terribly insecure. Dibbles on the other hand was everybody's friend. You could not help but love her. From then on I saw Sheba differently. Dibbles and she were great friends. Dibbles however had been so badly wounded and infected as a puppy that she developed a very bad bowel condition and had many operations on her rectum. She would have needed a colostomy had she been human. She passed pure blood from her backside and eventually had to be put down. She was just six years old. Sheba then became our only dog along with 23 cats.

I realised I had the gentlest most loyal dog anyone could wish for and she became my guardian angel going everywhere with me when I could not venture out of the house alone. She sat on the settee with me at every therapy session and when I was distraught she would go and sit beside my therapist and shake.

I hope things work out for you all. We are in Essex from Monday and the funeral is on Tuesday. This is not an easy time but we have to get through it, just as David's mum would have wanted. I don't know if I told you but the doctor and his wife who run mum's home lost their 30 year old son the week before mum died. He had a massive brain haemmorrage. He was a barrister with a wonderful life before him. I spoke to Mrs Khan his mother today. She was very brave and just kept saying how much they miss Dave's mum as she was such a lovely lady. She said she always told her children when they used to say "It's not fair" that life is not fair and that just about sums it all up.