Spook, RIP: Guest post by the Woman

Spookie was eighteen. She was taken to the vet on Friday with chronic kidney failure. After keeping her overnight the vet recommended euthanasia. My poor father went to hold Spookie's paw. Spook did not go gentle into that good night. She always did rage at the vet's. My dad buried her in the garden. He is bereft.

These are all pictures taken in the last four years, on my trips to Cape Town. Somewhere in envelopes in my parents' house are photos of me with kitten-Spook upside down in my arms, passed out, and I remember her sleeping in my long hair, a white kitten on the white pillow, snuggled up rather alarmingly in my red hair.

We fetched the tiny kitten from the elderly lady who bred British Short Haired Chinchillas in her house in a nearby suburb. She was sitting with a brother and sister in an armchair, quite adorable. The lady lost interest in us when she heard that Little Silver Snow was going to be a pet. A mere pet.

After her relaxed start, Spookie's life was dominated early on by the bully tactics of Minkey the Tiger Cat, herself an extraordinarily unforgettable Abyssinian, since departed and also buried in the garden. While the household , and especially my mother, mourned lovely, chirruping Minkey's passing, Spook perked up, and came out from under the bed.

Instead of hiding from terrifying Minkey, she ate breakfast with my father, early in the mornings, before he left for chambers. He always started with fruit, and if it was spanspek (canteloup) or pawpaw (papaya), she would sit up and beg for some, and would be fed tidbits on pieces of his morning paper.

Spookie adored asparagus and would beg for these at dinner time, balancing expertly on her hind feet and dangling her front paws beatifically while shark-biting the hand that fed her. Green beans were delicious, and she would often be bobbing up and down for half of dinner into begging position until my father swatted her away with impatience. She loved to hear the Cow ping when the white stuff was warm. And only Spook would know what that means.

Some years ago poor Spook started to have nightmares where she would start to miaow loudly in her sleep to the point where we would all wake up and rush to try and calm her. Waking up her head would pop out of her curled up "ball" position and she'd say, Prrrp? in a very surprised manner. What's the fuss about? Dreaming of Minkey's claws stomping the carpet.

Never in sight during the years of the Reign of Minkey, Spookie stopped spooking and became the social lunch cat, always joining anyone eating under the tree in the garden, or on the patio.

Loved by her Pa, who adored her almond eyes and loud purr and regular head bumps, she slept on a special cushion on his desk at home, and often on the bed at night.

I never thought it would be Spook I would not see again when I left Cape Town early this year. She was as light as a feather, but seemed immortal.