There have been cats in this house since 1997. We made it a policy to adopt or foster, from our local Cats Protection homing centre, cats other people tended not to want because the moggies were old, or missing limbs or eyes, or had other infirmities.

Our first cat was Misty. She was a lovely silver-grey tabby, but was withdrawn and aggressive. Paul spent weeks, during his lunch hour, visiting the shelter to gain Misty’s trust. It transpired she was deaf, and the other cats in the shelter would bully her. It was no surprise, then, she had gone into her shell. We were allowed to home her, and once she was here she blossomed into a beautiful furry friend. Her purring rattled tea cups!

Eventually, as such things go, Misty died. Almost immediately, we went back to the adoption centre “to be chosen again”. This time, an absolute unit called Tom stole our hearts. He was a large black and white cat, with front legs like a British Bulldog, with his back legs bringing up the rear like a pantomime cow. One eye had been lost, but he could see well enough with the remaining one. He was also diabetic, and needed insulin injections. He also made it quite plain he liked the look of us, and he duly found his way to our home.

At some point, Tom got a bit overweight – we did rather spoil him, I admit. Then his good eye went wrong. We took him to a specialist veterinary hospital near Cambridge, but they couldn’t do much to help. Pressure in his eye had popped the lens in front of the iris, which gave him an oddly glazed eyeball. He coped with it well enough, though. Then, one day, dozing in a sunny spot, he had a heart attack and died.

Back to Cats Protection we went.

Because Tom had been something like two cats in one fur coat, we decided we might home a pair this time. Penny, a tiny tabby, and Sophie, a smart black cat, both around ten years old, came as a pair. Sophie, acting the princess, appeared to be the senior partner. Oh, how wrong we could be. One day, Sophie was acting up when Penny bopped her smartly on the nose to put her firmly in her place. Penny was Top Cat in this partnership.

It was Penny that left us first. Sophie, though, had some heart problems, not that you’d notice. She soldiered on for another couple of years, enjoying snoozing on laps whenever possible. When her time came, we did what we always did to deal with the grief: went to the adoption centre again.

It was April 2016. We decided it might be nice to home a slightly younger cat, one that was quite healthy. We hadn’t meant to meet Billy, but he made it very plain he wanted to meet us. Billy was four years old, a long-haired domestic cat, with the most amazing fluffy tail, white tufty hairs in his ears, and the most penetrating gaze from his green eyes.

We were smitten. We got him home soon after. The carry box was deposited in the kitchen, the lid opened, and we explained to Billy where his litter tray was, and where the food would be dished up. We then left him to explore his new home.

After about an hour, Billy appeared in the room where I was working on my laptop. He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, and jumped up onto the arm of the sofa next to me. I made a bit of a fuss of him, and he settled down. He went for another little exploration, and when he came back he jumped up and made it clear he wanted to sit on my lap. He had been in the house for all of two hours, and he had decided he liked what he saw.

Billy soon learned the routines of the house. I admit we sort of spoiled him. At a regular vet checkup, Billy tipped the scales at 7kg. The vet gave us a telling-off, and prescribed a weight loss regimen. Billy was to have no more than 50g of special diet biscuits per day. He took his diet in good part, and although the weight loss was slow, we got him down to a more sensible 5.5kg eventually.

And so, things ticked along. Then Paul died earlier this year. Billy took that in his stride, becoming the furry rock to which I could anchor in the maelstrom of a life turned upside down. Together, we would be okay. We would make it.

Late in the summer, though, he was off his food. It’s not unusual for a cat to stop eating for a day or two, but this went on longer than that. Time to see our friendly vet to see what it might be.

A blood test revealed Billy was in renal failure. His kidneys were not working properly. Paul and I never bothered with pet insurance, because we were lucky enough to have cash reserves that would cover most expenses. Anyway, because Billy was family, I swallowed hard and took the hit. Some treatment got his appetite back, and I found special kidney support food. We seemed to be okay again.

Only, being off his food became more frequent. Then Billy started to lose weight quite quickly. The prognosis was not good.

This past weekend, Billy had only a couple of mouthfuls of food. He spent most of his time, curled up on the bed, sleeping. He still mooched about, and demanded a grooming at lunchtime on Sunday. Billy always enjoyed a good deep grooming session most days. Even so, I felt it might be time to make That Decision.

I called the vet on Monday and made an appointment for Tuesday. Part of me hoped the vet might persuade me that things would be okay with some more treatment, but deep down I knew that wouldn’t happen. I called my neighbour, who always looked after Billy when we went away and who loved Billy almost as much as we did, so she could see him one more time. It was hard. I fervently wished that Billy would just go to sleep and not wake up, so he didn’t have to suffer the trauma of a visit to the vet…

Billy went to sleep in my arms, at the vet surgery, around 3pm on 4 November 2025. He had been part of my family for nearly a decade. He has left a large Billy-shaped hole.

I will home another cat, but not straight away. Now I am properly on my own, having lost Paul and now Billy, I want to take some time to do a bit of travelling, exploring, seeing interesting things, knowing I don’t have to organise a pet sitter or arrange a cattery stay. I shall embrace a little freedom for a while, and then, when the time is right, I shall be chosen by a new furry friend.

I wrote a post about some of the many nicknames Billy was given. I was going to attempt to find photos of all our previous moggies, but I couldn’t locate any of Tom or Misty. I am sure they are on a hard drive, somewhere, but right now I don’t have the energy required to seek them out. I am sure you will understand.