Cat for May

When I started this theme, Cat of the Month, I was looking back over all the cats I've had and all their idiosyncrasies and all their antics. Cats never fail to amuse.

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And yet, in writing about one cat at a time, the exercise is vastly different. I realise that the past telescopes into a vague mist, where only the most remarkable peaks reach through. My early cats, it's true, most of them weren't with us very long. Some came and went as a blink in the mind of a child not really paying attention.

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So it was with Megan.

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Megan arrived as one of three, from a friend of my mother's who could no longer keep them. Megan, Walter and Priscilla. Megan was still a kitten, and a sick one. The other two jumped right into life at the Uhrhammer house. Megan, small and white and discrete, could not be saved. All kittens are skinny furbags with hardly any substance to them, but Megan even more so. She didn't meow, didn't complain. She purred, softly. Mostly we kids were hushed and told not to be pests and sent outside. She stayed with us a week or so, and then was gone.

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Bye, little Megan. I haven't forgotten entirely.