Jess
Jess passed away this week at the grand age of sixteen. The death of a pet is difficult. We become so attached to them and treat them as one of the family. Right now I’m finding myself expecting to see her when I get up in the morning and then realising she won’t come running meowing at me for her breakfast. As I work from home, there are moments when I go to make a coffee and expect her to be waiting on me, or soundly sleeping somewhere in the house. Sixteen years is a long time. Inevitably you look back and think how much has changed since then. Jess has been a constant during that time, through all the highs and lows that life delivers us.
I just wanted to make a note here of the first time we met. She was in a cage with I recall seven or eight other kittens. When I opened the door for a closer look, Jess was at the back. She clambered over the top of the other kittens heads and stuck her head out of the cage and reached out with her paw. I leaned forward and she scrambled onto my left shoulder and then curled herself around my neck, purring loudly. I knew in that moment she was my cat. It was meant to be.
The Fiction Factory 