Goodbye darling Mousie, most precious of cats. You were born into my hands thirteen years ago, one of Clover's kittens. She sat on you a lot and I was constantly rescuing you from suffocation . You were 'my' kitten and I loved you deeply from the second I held you.
You were the runt, a wee grey blob, only a few inches long. I called you 'Mouse' and whispered it into your ear so that you would know your name, still damp from the womb.
Once, after a car accident, you went missing but you somehow found your way home, clawing away for dear life at the conservatory door a week later. I'd been broken hearted and resigned to you never returning. I had lain on the sofa for days in a dark pit of despair, weeping with joy when you came back to us in the middle of the night. We called you 'the Mouse that Returned'.
Thankfully that was your last big adventure. You had ten quiet and happy years at our tiny cottage in West Oxfordshire. You went skedaddle in the April winds and basked in the sun. In winter you retired to the sofa and slept, a plump mouse waiting for spring.
You never demanded attention, nor caused a nuisance. You were quiet, unassuming and humble - a mouse who knew her position in the scratching order and was happy there. You loved your head being scroffled and scraps of Marmite toast.
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