Goodbye Old Friend

Our travelling companion makes her last journey

Beatrice came into our lives some sixteen years ago. She was found as a stray in Vancouver, and we adopted her at the Vancouver SPCA. Despite all of the people who say “Oh, never let your cat out doors, she’ll kill all of the pretty little birds” she was an outdoor cat.

She lived much of her life in our townhome on Hendecourt Road, in North Vancouver. She knew the neighbours, she knew their children, she would wander over to visit them.

She ruled all dogs. We had many boarding with us over the years, as well as our own pups Joseph and Ursula, and she could shut them down with nothing more than a fierce stare.

One dog, a Weimaraner nemed Giorgio, was fascinated by the cat flap in the bedroom door. Especially when something was tapping it from the inside. Eventually curiosity got the better of him, and he pushed has nose through the flap.

The howl from Giorgio was heard through the house, as were the whimpers until we removed the big fat cat claw that was embedded in his nose. Giorgio had learned to fear the cat flap…

Beatrice moved with us to France. She was an excellent traveller, never complaining. She liked some places more than others, but especially favoured the big French windows, and the little balconies outside of them where she would sit for hours watching people and traffic pass by.

After our return to Canada last year I think we sensed that something was not right with her. She still loved exploring or sleeping in the garden sunshine, and finding the lost corners of the barn, but she was just not her old self.

This weekend she was diagnosed with a large tumour in her stomach, which was apparently blocking her intestines. She was not eating, and not pooping, and just slept in front the electric fire in the living room.

Her decline was very fast, yet in the last couple of months she still managed to discover her real talent for catching mice - as many as two a day. Never to eat, just to display proudly to us.

And when our cat-sitter brought along her small dog, Beatrice very quickly explained who was the boss. Sick or not she would NOT be dominated by a dog.

And she still moved through the house, following the nice sunny patches of light from the windows.

In Beatrice’s final hours we groomed her, as she could no longer do that, and we cleaned up the mess where her poor bowels had been leaking softened stools all over her fur. We made her pretty again, and clean, and comfortable.

Wrapped in a warm blanket, in front of the fire, she passed away with little pain, and little struggle.