Cyril Adieu
15 June
It's been a great sadness to say goodbye to Cyril. I've shared 8 years of my life with him.
He's lived with me in two houses Egerton Street and Barclay Road and, briefly, an inter regnum at Colin's in St Mathews Road when we had just arrived in London.
He's known the secrets of three relationships. Originally, he was Keith's. In fact, I first clapped eyes on him in Keith's flat in Liverpool and, when Keith moved in with me, so did Cyril. When Keith moved to Bristol, Cyril stayed with me. When I moved to London, Cyril came with me. Keith and I where going to live together but, as I've told elsewhere, we didn't.
Cyril very nearly became a love tug cat. Keith and I had serious conversations which included lines like me saying that I could give him a stable home and Keith wanting reassurances about access. But he came with me to North East London. And he lived through the trauma of my relationship with David and his illness and death and then the ups and downs of my times with Ross.
When I came home from work on Monday, he was dead in the garden. I was so glad for him and it was much as I had hoped for.
I'd said goodbye to him that morning feeling in my heart that this was the final goodbye. And I got a pussy chirrup out of him. Ross left the house later. I was so glad that I'd written a note for Ross to say that if Cyril wanted to go out to let him. Ross left him some water and, when he said goodbye, the old cat seemed much at ease with the world.
He's had a fine life. 15/16 years is a goodly age for a tom. He's travelled. He's rarely known hunger or pain. And until very near the end, he was active. Less than 6 weeks ago, he was still leaping up onto the roof of the shed in the back garden to take his ease in the late afternoon sunshine whilst I worked on the borders or cut the grass. And it's really only been in the last four or five days that he's been weakened by lack of food and a slowly poisoned system to the point where he's been incapacitated.
I found him on the lawn. He'd not been too long dead. Rigor had not set in. But he'd been dead long enough for the flies to settle - which was a shocking and disconcerting moment. I shooed them off and threw a blanket over him and cried. Then I picked him up and held him and cried some more. If I hadn't had the experience of David's death, I couldn't have held my treasured cat like that so that I could thank him and wish him well on his next journey.
Earlier today, I did a search on all the EJ files and came up with over 50 references to him.
The references seem to be mainly just references to him being there. But there are
some special ones. The first shows just how
loving he could be. But also, if you read on, just how inventive he could be when he
wanted his own way. Bad behaviour was a speciality and frustration was demonstrated in
typical Cyril fashion. He was at it again
later in 1997 and again
the following year. It's a wonder he survived
at all. 
His piece de resistence however was his full blooded attempt to
trash the tree in Christmas 1998.
He's had his fair share of trips to the vets. He was gravely ill late in 1996 and I would not have been surprised if he had died then. I'm so glad he stuck around to see me through the upheavals of last year. In early 1997, he had an operation to remove cysts which was a success and there have been the odd other trips too. The vet knows him well. He has a scar on his right thumb to remember Cyril by.
But it's the companionship I shall miss. The events like spending Christmas with my parents. Cyril loved Ross. I know he loved me too but we got on as equals. Ross he adored and treated like a younger cat to be fussed over. He missed Ross terribly when he moved out and was always delighted when he visited. The two of us are going to miss him dreadfully.
I already miss the routine of preparing his food in the morning. I shall continue to look out for the flash of his white chest through the curtains showing that he was waiting for my return. I find myself catching a movement out of the corner of my eye that might be a pussy flash.
I shan't miss white hair everywhere and Phil was quite right to say that I won't miss the soggy CDs. But they are small things by comparison.
Thanks to all who have phoned or e-mailed to send condolences. It's a strange thing this electronic community business but somehow you've all entered a little into my life and shared with me the joys and sorrows of Cyril.