Defining a Life
We put her in the car , called my mum to tell her we had yet another cat , told her we couldn ’ t say what colour she was because she had a bit of everything , black , white brown , ginger , tortoiseshell , and my mum said you must call her Confetti .
Naming a cat is never a good thing to do if you intend to part with it , but we had and so we did not .
I could not settle . In three years we went from Qatar to Spain to Italy , taking Ivanhoe , Confetti and Brutus Junior with us . We left them in a cattery to attend one of my dearest friend ’ s funerals back in London and when we returned I held Ivanhoe while he was put to sleep . His kidneys had never been strong .
When we returned home to the UK , we had lost one of my dearest friends , the last hope of children with the advent of an early menopause and our first cat together , but we brought Brutus and Confetti , survivors like ourselves . After a couple of years they were joined by another rescue Bengal , a snow , with cerulean eyes , that we named Iona , a miracle cat , it turned out . She fell ill with failed kidneys and the Queen Mother Hospital said had she been older they would have put her down , but she was only two then , and maybe she could live six months more since she seemed to have adjusted so well to such a diminished function . That was years ago . She ’ s
Five more years pass . We are finally resigned to our state . But a legacy of sorts remains . Confetti , older , sedate and very graceful still , poised and posing with her single leg stretched
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