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Arthur and I
By Celia Anderson
13, May 2005 - 09:58

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'Tis a sad day today the 13th May 2005 because my darling tom cat Arthur was knocked over and passed away.  I wrote this piece a few months ago and wanted to share it with all the cat lovers out there who understand the loss such a wonderful creature brings.  Now I will go to the Garden Centre and buy that Cherry blossom tree I always wanted. Tonight we will bury Arthur under it and then each time a look at its beauty I will think of the beautiful animal who shared my life with such love for the last two years.  Whiskey, his playmate and friend will miss him as well and us two girls will comfort each other and remember him with love.
Arthur & Whiskey


Arthur and I wander through the field adjoining our house over the lush green carpet. The fields span into the distance interrupted by one lonely farm snuggled into the dip of the valley. Its unclear features too far to identify. Smoke curls from its chimney, displaying warmth and comfort. Past the isolated farm the patchwork fields ascend over hills. Paddy's sheep watch us warily ...unsure of these two strange beings. I have had little time in the last year to wander over my field. It's a tiny patch among fence peeled back for Paddy’s sheep, my mobile lawnmowers, to enter and tame the wilderness.

Even as a kitten he was my big boy.

They skater away worried by Arthur’s pretend attacks. He loves to chase them. Unbeknown by the silly animals, Arthur is harmless. His appearance might frighten other animals...his size is in his favor. He is large for his age, but can I put this about my favorite cat. Well, he is just a big ginger whimp. I do love him dearly but he would run at the slightest charge. His pretense of defending me is more for his own protection than mine. He stays close to my side, glancing back, judging the distance to the cat flap. Yet he walks by my side...feigning an attack if any of the sheep wander too close. I don't mind him being such a show off and coward; his temperament makes him my darling cat. He acts more like a dog than a cat. At times he walks with my friend down to the far fields to watch him fly his model airplanes. Arthur is used to the sound and no longer dashes in total panic towards the house. He sits a few meters away and his eyes never leave my friend. Sometimes I wonder if he is a dog in a cat's body.

Here we are walking together, at peace with the world. At least I am, Arthur seems to be having a problem with one of the sheep. He arches his back, growls like a tiger and spits like a cobra. The sheep is fooled and trots off. Arthur nudges my leg as if to say "Did you see that. I'm the best." I laugh at more step and the great tiger would have run for his life. But I do love him so.

We have reached the end of our field. I look back at my house. With the sheep bleating around us, birds fluttering and singing in the trees to the right. The new foal kicking up his legs in the field to the left. I feel good. This is my life. Foreign to this lovely land but yet my home.
"I am not amused! :(

I was born in a town surrounded by majestic snow capped mountains. A town loved by tourist, neutral in its cause. To this day it still pulls against all others. Its seasons extreme but beautiful. Famous for its precision.

My childhood was spent way down south; in a country backed by its brilliant sunshine, surrounded by oceans. A country with a rich past, struggling against the onslaught of change, once called the diamond country or country of gold, now struggling against its crime. But surviving step by step.

Now here we stand, Arthur and I, with bleating sheep surrounding us, birds fluttering and singing in the trees on the right and the foals nuzzling his mom on the left. The back door of our house opens, a figure emerges. He waves a friendly greeting, I wave back and we begin our amble back towards our home. Arthur and I. The big adorable ginger whimp and his best friend.

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