Winner of the 2020 Diary Writing Competition
12th March 2015
Our small town, small animal vet, Uncle Mert, (as we call him) stopped by on Friday afternoon. He wanted to leave me some sleeping tablets to crush into some tuna juice for Josie, our elderly cat. Uncle Mert suspected that Josie had a brain tumour, as she was attacking both Pattie (my wife) and me. We all knew it was not good. But true to Uncle Mert’s kindness, he dropped off the tablets and very large live trap.
Josie had holed herself up in one of the bedrooms. Pattie and I set the trap up in this room. At some point in the night, lured out by the smell of barbiturate laced tuna juice, Josie was safely in the cage and completely stoned out of her gourd the next morning. We said our goodbyes. I put a blanket over her cage and I took her out to Uncle Mert’s.
That was Saturday.
It’s now Monday. Pattie has insisted we go to the animal shelter to choose another cat. When we got home, with a huge grey and white tom cat called Noodle, I asked Pattie how soon she’d replace me. She said “Would it be ok if he came to your funeral?”
Uncle Mert is stopping by on his way home to meet Noodle.
By Julia Nelson-Elgar