He arrived uninvited on our doorstep just over thirteen years ago ? a wet and shivering little bundle of black fur, abandoned by his mother and left to fend for himself.

We brought him in and warmed him by the fire. He stubbornly refused the few drops of milk that we tried to force down him, so we wrapped him in an old towel and left him out in the turf shed, certain that he would not survive the night.

Plaintive cries from the shed early next morning, informed us that our guest was still very much alive. We brought him in again, and this time he accepted the milk ? a little at first, and then more as the day progressed. Soon he was purring happily in a basket beside the fire.

We called him ?Buttons? and, over the next months and years, Buttons became an integral part of our extended family. He grew at an alarming rate, from a scrawny scared kitten to a large and magnificent specimen of feline power and grace.

As befitted a cat of his perceived lofty status, he treated everyone with haughty disdain, totally ignoring all efforts to curry favour with him unless he wanted something ? usually food. And with two teenage boys in the house, there were always lots of tasty morsels lying around to tempt a hungry moggie

Sausages left on counter-tops while hot-dogs were being prepared would suddenly disappear without trace and irate cries of ?Ah, Buttons!? would summon the miscreant from his basket.

He would sidle into the kitchen with a look of injured innocence that would melt the heart of even the most hardened cynic. It was a performance worthy of an Oscar, and was spoiled only by the telltale signs of tomato ketchup dripping from the rascal?s ample whiskers.

Chicken was his favourite food, and Christmas was his favourite time, when fowl in plenty was on the menu. Much to his disgust, he would be banished to the back garden during Christmas dinner, and would kick up a most awful racket, totally losing every shred of dignity in the process.

When dinner was finished, his dish would be heaped with generous helpings from the leftovers. The door would then be opened and he would march majestically in, with arched back and tail held high, a hurt expression on his face, before suddenly dropping all pretences of indignation and scurrying off to see what goodies had been saved for him.

Having devoured everything on the dish and having licked it clean, he would amble slowly into the living room and spend some time carefully washing his face and grooming his whiskers. Then he would leap nimbly on to the sofa and climb over bodies reclining sleepily in front of the television. Selecting a comfortable lap, he would snuggle down, sigh blissfully and drift off into a peaceful sleep, punctuated only by the occasional gentle snore. It?s not an easy life being a cat.

We built a run for him in the back garden with a lofty platform upon which he would recline for hours, airily surveying the boundaries of his kingdom. He rarely ventured beyond the garden. He made one or two half-hearted attempts at escape but soon returned, crying pitifully at the door. On fine summer days, he lay in the long grass, carefully repositioning his body to receive the warm rays of the sun. ?Cat ag cru na greine.? He would bat a languid paw at passing butterflies and hiss at any birds that ventured too close to his resting place. He rarely gave chase however, believing that any form of unnecessary physical activity was to be avoided at all cost.

Earlier this year, we noticed a gradual decline in Buttons? general condition. The vet confirmed that age was slowly catching up with the old boy. A course of hormone injections and tablets were prescribed, and Buttons remained in good spirits throughout the summer months, experiencing no apparent pain or discomfort.

He finally left us last week, as quickly and as unexpectedly as he had arrived all those years ago. We gently laid him to rest in his favourite corner of the garden, and intend to plant some rose bushes there in the spring.

By summer, the garden will be in full bloom again, and it will be pleasant to stroll once more in the sunshine, and take some time out to stop and smell the roses.

(more…)

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