I can't quite believe I'm writing this.
My girl has gone.
Molly came to me from rescue 13 years ago. She had been brought in pregnant and was only 11 months old herself. By the time I met her her kittens were 8 weeks old and ready for rehoming. Molly wasn't really the maternal type and my friend Jeanne (that ran the rescue) said she was never sure if Molly was playing with her kittens or trying to kill them.
However, when me and Molly met there was no mistaking it was love at first sight for both of us. She shamelessly threw herself at me, doing roly poly's along my leg as I sat on the floor with her.
I didn't say anything to Jeanne about how Molly had touched my heart. I already had Toby and Lily and had no intention of adding to my brood but that night I tossed and turned, going over in my mind whether I could afford a third mouth to feed (and the insurance). By morning I had decided I could and phoned Jeanne. Before I could say anything Jeanne said 'I know why you're calling'. She said that another lady had been to see Molly and was interested so I told Jeanne that Molly should go to the home that she thought was best for her. The other lady lived in the middle of the countryside, surrounded by fields.
A day or two later Jeanne phoned me. She said 'I have some bad news'. I said 'It's OK Jeanne, I trust your judgement', then she said 'You are going to need another bowl'
Jeanne later told me that the reason she picked me was because the other lady was looking for a cat that would mainly be a rodent killer and she knew that Molly needed a home where she would be showered in love and attention.
And so Molly came to live with me. It wasn't without it's hiccups. Molly turned out to be quite territorial, not so much in the house but in the garden and she took to chasing Lily whenever they were in the garden. There were times when I wondered if I had done the right thing as Lily was so obviously distressed but after time it settled down and although Lily and Molly never became best buddies they did live side by side quite happily.
Molly was an uncomplicated cat. She loved her food (anything) and her sleep. She very quickly established 'her spot' on my bed and it remained the same spot for the whole 13 years she was with me. However she had a look and if looks could kill I would be six feet under by now. She earned herself the title of 'Madam Molly' and lived up to that quite often.
She was so affectionate. The minute you touched her she would purr, and wow, what a purr she had. How many times have I buried my head in her and got rewarded with the vibration of that wonderful purr.
She would lie next to me on the bed, roll over on her back, exposing that gorgeous white soft fur. Who wouldn't want to rub their hands through that soft fur? I frequently did and Molly would purr so loudly.
I noticed a week or so ago that her breathing had got quite loud and I wish I had taken her to the vet sooner. Would the outcome have been different if I had taken her last week? A question I am tormenting myself with now. The vet suspected heart disease but a blood test proved negative so the vet decided to do x-rays. The results of that were inconclusive so Molly was to be sent home with antibiotics. When I got the call from the vet saying that Molly could come home I was ecstatic. I was at the vets within the hour only to discover that my darling girl had slipped away before completely coming round from the anaesthetic. I raged at the injustice. I was ready to take my girl home, they told me I could take her home, now they were telling me she was dead. Nooooooo!!!!!
The young vet was in tears and she said all the nurses were upset too as Molly had charmed them. That's my girl!
The vet brought Molly into the room for me and I held her still warm little body and buried my head in her fur. I wanted to hear that purr for one last time. "Please purr for me Molly". But she was gone.
These last couple of days have been so awful. I keep expecting to see her in her favourite sleeping places. Night time is the worse. I go to bed and wake during the night, put my hand out and 'her spot' is empty. Toby, bless him, still won't take that spot. Instead he sneaks under the duvet and lies as close to me as he can.
I know from experience that this will get easier, but right now I have a physical pain in my chest. Is this heartache? Yes I think it is.
Goodnight sweet Molly. You were loved so very much.
