In Memory of Roger
The most magnificently grumpy puss ever
About thirty years ago, I read a book called “The Nine Lives of Montezuma” by Michael Morpurgo. The main character, Montezuma, was a ginger tom cat and the book told of his adventures living on a farm. Ever since reading it, I wanted a ginger cat of my own. I finally got my wish seventeen years later, when Roger came into our lives.
We didn’t go looking for a cat; instead he chose to move in with us, which I guess is the ultimate compliment from a cat! We met for the first time not long after we got our chickens (we’d been living on the island for about five months by then). I went up to the back garden to see how the chooks were getting on, and saw a couple of rats stuffing their faces at the feeder. Suddenly Roger came racing in – like a ginger streak of lightning – and grabbed one rat by the neck, shaking it. He then swiped the other one round the head with his paw, before sauntering over to sit at my feet, purring loudly. He moved in almost straight away - and we’ve barely seen a rat since! We were never entirely sure of his age but we think he was about three years old then. He spent the next thirteen-and-a-bit years with us.
Being a cat, everything of course had to be on his terms. We’d let him in and out when he wanted, feed him when he demanded it, and he would only put up with strokes and cuddles when he was in the right mood. He was, however, very patient and tolerant of being grabbed and carried around by the then-toddler Boy, flopping over his arms with a look of resignation on his face.
My son entered him into the local primary school pet show one year, and he won the award for “Best Behaved Pet”. We think he was probably just sitting still because he was sulking at the indignity of being *put* into a box, rather than choosing to go into it himself!
In his younger days Roger liked to come for walks with us, sometimes coming all the way up the track as far as the community fire station, about a mile away. As he got older he couldn’t manage to go so far but would still insist on following us. He would then need carried home when his legs got tired, something he accepted with a very grumpy miaow. He did the best grumpy miaows. He also enjoyed a trip to the beach, or a stroll round the shore to “Roger’s Rock”. He even occasionally jumped into the rowing boat with us and came for a trip around the harbour!
He loved investigating vehicles and if any tourists left their car windows or doors open when they headed down to the beach, he would be in there like a shot! He was also capable of predicting the future and could always tell where we were about to put our feet – and then put himself into that exact spot. I can’t count the number of times we almost tripped over him!
Roger got quite forgetful in his old age and would sometimes wander round the house miaowing like he was looking for something but couldn’t remember what (I know the feeling!), or he would ask out then just sit on the doorstep waiting to be let in again two minutes later. His hearing was failing too although he could always hear the sound of a packet of Dreamies being opened... He liked knowing where we were, so we would often find ourselves talking to him loudly from the other side of the garden while we were busy outside.He developed a cataract in one eye recently and we would joke that he was 80% blind, 90% deaf and 100% daft-as-a-threadbare-brush. Of course, we still loved him!
Roger had several sneaky places to sleep in around the garden – the old van, a box of wood shavings in the woodstore, the rafters of the big shed – and would often stay out all night, whatever the weather. But when he didn’t come inside last Sunday evening, I just had a feeling that this was the end. I found him on Monday morning, curled up in his favourite cubby-hole in the outhouse, looking like he was sound asleep.
We buried him in a corner of the garden, between a Rowan, Elder, and Lilac, and I planted a blackcurrant cutting on top of him.
Rest in peace, Roger. We will miss you so much. You were the best pet, and we even have the rosette to prove it.
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I knew where this was heading, sob, but felt compelled to read to the end as a final salute to both Roger and your writing.
I have an elderly cat myself (and an old woofikins) and dread the day that will inevitably come. Our cat goes through phases where I think the end is approaching, then she perks up again. However, one day...
Stay strong. I'm sending you all a hug x
Awwwww he seemed like a great cat. My condolences.