Losing a furry friend is never easy

Columnist Andrew Gale talks about the pain of losing a family pet

PURR-FECT FRIEND: Angus Gale playing with the family cat, Bridie. Picture: Contributed

IT HAS not been a particularly happy week at home. Bridie, our little white cat popped out early in the week and hasn't come back.

She's always been a bit of a wanderer and has plenty of friends and is well known in the neighbourhood, sometimes for the wrong things, such as getting stuck in other people's chook pens and of all things, launching sneak attacks on dogs but normally, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

She has wandered away before, once being found under Rose City Shopping Centre and was fortunately discovered by a lovely lady who made the right connections and she came home.

She is also quite well known for waiting at the corner every afternoon to walk home with "her kids” when they come home from school.

We've always had cats and dogs. At the moment, we have 2 of each. I hope I can still say 2, but as the days roll on, more and more it is looking like 2 dogs and a cat.

I've found that cats come in two types. Home bodies that lol about in strange places, like inside drawers or boxes or even my computer keyboard.

Our last cat lived for 16 years. She moved from Brisbane to Julia Creek, to Yelarbon and then to Warwick and barely wandered out of sight of our front door.

I once, accidentally, locked her in a kid's bedroom for about 10 days when we went away for school holidays.

Fortunately for her, she survived on left-overs from hastily discarded school lunchbox and water on the window sill. When we came home she wandered into the kitchen, looking as thin as a fence paling and gave me the evil eye. She's got a permanent spot in the sunny front garden now.

Then there are the wandering cats. We've had a few of those ones. Their lives are always, sadly, much shorter. I remember taking one such cat to the vet after we noticed it couldn't walk without discomfort.

It would have been over 20 years ago, I was still a cop and was working that day so I took said pussy cat to the vet.

I was in uniform and the vet told me it needed to be put down. I thought of my two little guys who were waiting for me to bring kitty home and burst into tears.

I'm sure crying at the vets was a regular occurrence, but I don't think anyone at the vets had seen a crying, 18 stone, policeman before.

They looked at me wide eyed. Not knowing what to say. I said, "a sit down and a cup of tea would be nice.”

It was with dread that I travelled home and told the little guys as delicately as I could.

The oldest one immediately shrugged nonchalantly and said, "We can get a new kitten now dad” excitedly.

I still hold out hope that Bridie might come home.

I'm not being flippant, I'm sad to lose her. I will miss seeing her waiting at the corner or flitting about like a ghost, but I'm a realist and know a terrible thing.