In
1992, a
security
guard heard
mewing
coming
from a
large skip
on an
industrial
estate in
Basingstoke,
Hampshire,
England.
Inside,
deep in
the rubble
and ash he
found a
mother cat
with her
one day
old
kittens.
He rescued
them all
and
contacted
the Royal
Society
for the
Protection
of Animals
(RSPCA).
Only
one kitten
survived
but she
was very
sick with
respiratory
problems.
Hour by
hour she
was hand
reared by
dedicated
people and
slowly,
but
surely,
she began
to
improve.
It was at
this time
that I
lost one
of my cats
in a road
accident
and I was
given the
opportunity
of
fostering
this
lovely,
tortoiseshell
kitten
from the
age of
eight
weeks.
It was
suggested
that I
fostered
rather
than adopt as
her health
could
become a
major
issue. I
fell in
love with
her as
soon as I
saw her;
indeed, I
think she
felt the
same about
me. I
became her
‘Mum’ and
she
followed
me around
everywhere.
I gave her
the name
‘Sherry’
because of
her
colouring
and the
way she
made my
life feel
all the
richer for
knowing
her.
She was
so small
that I had
to be
careful
where I
put my
feet for
fear of
treading
on her.
She seemed
to have a
heavy cold
but the
vet was
absolutely
fantastic
and soon
Sherry
began to
grow and
develop
into a
beautiful,
affectionate
cat. I
then
adopted
her; we
had become
such good
friends.
Sherry
enjoyed
almost
fourteen
years of
life. She
was not
aware of
any
unkindness
or cruelty
that many
of her
feline
peers
endure.
Her health
was good
for most
of the
time; the
spaying
operation
that she
was
advised to
have had
its
complications
but
thankfully
she pulled
through
with
flying
colours.
It was
at the
beginning
of May
(2006)
when I
noticed a
change.
She did
not want
to eat any
kind of
the normal
proprietary
cat food;
she
preferred
to eat my
leftovers
– she
adored
mashed
potato and
the white
of an egg.
However, she had
always
been fond
of tuna fish
in brine
and this
now seemed
to be her
all-time favourite
meal.
She
watched my
other two
cats tuck
into their
bowls of
cat food and
almost
seemed to
ask, "Why
can’t I do
that?"
It was
strange;
she was
eating and
drinking
but there
was
something
that was
just not
quite
right.
When I
could see
this was
not
getting
any better
and her
breathing
was
becoming
laboured I
took her
to the
vet. He
‘hoped’
that it
was feline
asthma but
could not
rule out
something
more
serious.
Apparently,
it was her
breathing
problems
that were
causing
feeding
difficulties
so he gave
her three
injections.
These
would help
to clear
her lungs
so that an
x-ray
could be
carried
out later.
The
following
day I
returned
to the
surgery;
the vet
was
pleased
with her
progress
and gave
her
another
injection
to
completely
clear her
lungs.
She
rallied
that day
and had a
bowl of
her
favourite
tuna. She
walked
around and
lay beside
me on the
settee
which was
her
favoured place when
I was
watching
television.
She purred
and purred
that
evening;
her
breathing
was much
better
though
still a
little
laboured.
She was
very
content
and asked
for
nothing.
We said
‘Good-night’
at about
11.30 p.m.
and I left
her on the
settee
still
purring
away.
Just
after 7.30
the
following
morning
one of my
other cats
woke me by
nudging
his head
against my
arm. He
had never
done this
before
(indeed,
he has not
done it
since); I
knew
something
was wrong.
I went
downstairs
and could
not see
Sherry
straightaway;
she had
gone
underneath
the dining
room table
to die.
Sherry
had
slipped
away
quietly.
She
obviously
had not
made a
sound
because my
other two
cats would
have
responded
and
most certainly
I would
have
become
aware of
it.
I suppose
she did
not want
to become
a burden;
she gave
me so much
unconditional
love, made
no demands
whatsoever
and,
perhaps,
wanted me
to
remember
her like I
do now.
Sherry
was a
loving,
adorable
cat who
came into
my life
quite
unexpectedly.
Despite
her small
stature
she was
‘top cat’
here and
my other
two knew
their
place! Her
delightful
character
and charm
made me
feel
wanted and
she
reinforced
the belief
for me
that love
is earned
and cannot
be bought.
She was so
loyal
until the
end and I
miss her
terribly.
But I know
she did
not suffer
any pain
and that
she died
when she
felt the
time was
right in the
home which
she loved.
Thank
you Sherry
for
sharing
your
precious fourteen
years with
me; every
one was a
joy and you
will never
be
forgotten.
SHERRY'S
STORY
