Dad called today to tell me the news. Ruby was put down yesterday at the vets. Ruby is my cat and lives with my Mum & Dad. She shares her birthday with Rose (19 September) and I think she was 17 years old.
She has had a bad mouth for a while and they only took her to the vets to get it checked out. The vet said she was getting worse and was riddled with arthritis so it was in her best interests. Mum stayed with Ruby while she got her wee jag and she is now free of all her pain playing with a ball of string somewhere.
I always remember three things about Ruby that make me smile:
Firstly, when we got her it was as a gift for my Granny and Grandad’s Ruby wedding anniversary. She had to stay the night with us before the party the next day. I got the task of sleeping in the livingroom with the door closed on the floor with a eight week old Ruby. I got no sleep that night as she ran nuts around the round attacking me and my feet. That always makes me laugh.
Secondly, the only reason that she ended up living with us, only a few weeks after being a gift is because she was too wild for my Grandparents, she climbed fifteen odd feet up their embossed wallpaper in her flat!
When Mum was away running the London Marathon, Ruby chose that weekend to go missing, we spent the entire 3 or 4 days looking for her and had all but given up hope. On the last day I went out the back one last time in the fading light and pouring rain. Here comes Ruby like a scene from an American animal movie, limping with blood streaming from her chin. She still has that scar and it was a brilliant moment. We think she had been knocked down but still had the guts to make it home.
She lived with us all her time, in both Morton Street and Rathbone Place. She was a cool cat and liked the cuddles. She only got her ass kicked once (that I know of) and that was when Baby Battlecat met her in the back car park.
I will always remember her as my cat, well it felt like that to me, and running around mental as a wee kitten. See ya Rubester!