Belle

TO BELLE, WITH LOVE

I open up my blog and click 'New Post'. A blank box appears. The blank box is always slightly intimidating, but this time I know I have to fill it with words; words that mean something, words that represent a life lived and lost, words that are dedicated to a special little someone.

I click the little button that I know will enable me to upload an image. Another window opens. I browse through my folders. The 'Pets' folder is inside the 'Family' photo on my computer. This is more than just coincidence or organisational. The subjects of these photos are family, were family, will always be family.

I don't have many photos on my computer of her. This depresses me, knowing that the memories are hidden inside some stuffy photo album, knowing I wouldn't be able to find said album if I tried.

I pick the nicest photo. It is an older photo, so it wasn't taken when she was sick. I like that. She looks young and alive. The photo looks slightly artistic. I don't even remember who took it, or when it was taken.

Finally, I know it is time for words.

Part of me feels awkward and wants to make some sort of inappropriate joke.

A smarter part of my brain is shouting at me to just get on with it.

I was about four, or so, when I got Belle. Her mother, Delilah, a squash-faced black Persian - as far from Belle's appearance as possible, belonged to my best friend growing up, Sam.

As I remember, Delilah had had three kittens, all white. I think one of them was named Squeaky. Belle's name  was Princess.

The process of naming her was gruelling. I originally liked her original name, Princess, but my parents didn't. I think that I then kept changing my mind about the name. Her full name was actually Princess Tallulah-Belle Isabelle Rosie Rothapfel, or Belle for short.

She has been my companion since my childhood. She was my Hedwig. For years now, I have worried about the fact that her time was drawing near. She was an old cat, it was inevitable.

A couple of months ago, she was diagnosed as being in the early stages of kidney disease. I had time to prepare myself, at least. It was hard, but at least she spend her last few months living inside, sleeping on my bed and eating chicken, which was her favourite food.

She was an outdoor cat before she got sick, but she lived inside afterwards. She loved my bed - it was where she slept when we were both younger. However, I only have a tiny single bed, and I could never sleep with her on it. We had many stubborn arguments over the fact that she wasn't allowed on my bed. She usually won.

Last week, I went camping. Apparently, she meowed all night long because I was gone. She missed me. The night I got home, I let her sleep on my bed, and she had the best night sleep ever.

The following day, she couldn't walk. It was pretty horrible. We knew that her time had finally come, but it wasn't an easy decision for any of us. At least she lived her final months in comfort.

I loved her a lot.

I will always miss you, Belly-cat.