Timmy was one of a trio of ginger triplets who came to me from appalling conditions 12 ½ years ago. Billy and Joey were virtually identical but for a small black ‘dot’ under Billy’s nose. Both Billy and Joey had white markings but Timmy was solid ginger.
He was always a considerate and caring cat. He was very vocal and had an opinion on most subjects if you were willing to listen. Fortunately for him, I was a captive audience when sitting reading or knitting or watching television and he would share his views on most things or he would add a running commentary to the programme we were watching at the time. Occasionally, I’d get a word in edgeways and he’d consider my reply before coming back with something equally startling or incredible in its profundity. And so we’d discourse back and forth until one or other of us tired and would retire for the evening.
When Garfield was still alive, Timmy honed in to the fact that Garfield had special needs. For the last two to three years of Garfield’s life, he was his constant companion accompanying him everywhere; whether out in the garden or upstairs to the place where Garfield spent each day. Timmy would lie across the top of the stairs to stop Garfield from falling down the stairs and each night he would lie in front of him on the little sofa so that Garfield wouldn’t fall off the edge during the night. Timmy would also alert me to the fact that Garfield had wet his bed or he’d call me to tell me that Garfield wanted to come downstairs.
I noticed that Timmy walked closely along Garfield’s side and seemed to be guiding him along. When I asked Kevin our vet about this he confirmed that Garfield was losing his vision in that eye – Timmy had noticed when I had not.
Garfield and Timmy both used to lie on the sofa with me when I wasn’t feeling very well and since being diagnosed with leukaemia in June 2006 and losing Garfield 5 days after diagnosis, Timmy rarely left my side. He always seemed to know when I was just lying on the sofa to read or watch television, and therefore he would lie on the arm of the sofa, or if I wasn’t well in which case he’d lie along side me purring me better. Occasionally he’d yap little questions which I’d respond to and depending on my answers he’d seem satisfied that I was only in a temporary blip and would probably be feeling better the following day.
When Timmy was diagnosed in January with a serious heart defect his prognosis wasn’t good. He refused point blank to take his medication and I didn’t want to stress him further and risk him having a heart attack just trying to force the tablets down him. So I opted for a stress-free time for him even if it meant he may not last too much longer. I wanted his remaining days to be happy ones – not stressful and hating me for making him take his medication. I didn’t know what was in store for him, so when a week went by, then another and another, I began to hope that all was going to be well. I was not prepared, therefore, for the end when it came.
Timmy was a brave little lad who reached almost 13 years of age. His love and devotion first to Garfield, and then to me, shows the depth of feelings that any animal can have both for another of its kind and for its human family. I know that he has found Garfield, Joey, and all my other cats who’ve passed on before him, and that they’re all happy together recounting the fun times they all experienced here in the Daily Mews Mansion.
To say I miss him is an understatement. I am still absolutely devastated and miss him every day.
Sleep well, little one. Mummy loves and misses you.
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