Farewell to 262

 

LITTLE 262

That's her above. No, not the pushy wee fella in the foreground, begging to be taken away. But the reticent furball peering hesitantly from the safety of her cardboard haven. She was one of five siblings, newborns found in the streets of St Helens, and taken into the shelter of the Southport RSPCA. And this was love at first sight.

Her other brothers were all as pushy as the one shown. Only she held back, reluctant to put herself forward, and maybe that's why she was the one for us. The assistant got her out, and we held her, tiny, fragile, scared. We wouldn't be allowed to take her home with us until she was 12 weeks old, so there were frequent visits to the refuge, 'getting to know you' sessions, trying to form a bond. At first she was simply 'Little 262', because that was the number she had been given.

Meanwhile we tried out names. Nothing stuck. One day I'd visited her in my lunch break, and then called Barbara to report on progress. I thought I had a name. So did she. We can't remember which of us said it first, which said "that's what I had too", but we had, independently, arrived at the same answer. Where it came from we have no idea, as there was nobody of that name in our lives. But Zoe it was and Zoe she became. 262 had gone.

This was her arrival, in the place which would be her home for the next 5 years - an unboxing video of curiosity, fear, safety-seeking and an uncertain future.

She quickly developed her own unique character. Not a great fan of being picked up and held for long, but loving to be on laps and bodies when seated or in bed. Skilled at finding obscure hiding places (especially when the carrier came out...). Adaptable to a life that saw her ferried between Southport and Leith several times a year. And the softest fur you could find to stroke and nuzzle up to.

She could be a bit of a tiger...

Always ready to pose...

3 years ago she was diagnosed with a tumour in her chest. We decided against the imposition of surgery or chemo, and settled for managing the condition with steroid tablets. What a little survivor she was! Still going strong long after the worst had been expected.

But it had to end eventually, and the tumour got so big that her heart and lungs were being squeezed, her breathing compromised. The hardest decision had to be made. Which took us to today, and a tearful farewell.

This was my final photo of her, taken this morning when she came to sit on me in bed.

Goodbye Little 262. You were always loved.