The story of Marmite the Cat

My thoughts over the last days have been dominated by Marmite the Cat. Since he became ill in April I've hoped that his loss of appetite could be cured. We learned of kidney failure, he went through teeth extraction to no avail. Two days ago the options ran out meaning that he had to have an exploratory operation, which sadly showed a tumour in his lung. The phone call came through at 1.30pm and I raced to a quiet spot at work to take it. A short conversation later and I had to accept what I knew to be right . I struggled to cope , my eyes welled up with tears.

I arranged for him to be brought back to Ingatestone, so Elaine and I could say goodbye to M.Cat. The journey to the vets at 5.30pm I was dreading, the vet bought Marmite in, he sat on a soft rug, I stroked his face as I'd done so often over the years, his eyes shown still brightly as he turned his head. I kissed him gently on the top of his head, and left the room once outside I cried. Elaine said the end was peaceful and quick, but I could not witness that. The Marmite I want to remember is as my morning alarm clock.

How Marmite would climb on the bed around 5am, touch me with his nose, touch me with his claw, he knew just the right amount of pressure to stir me. How if I was on my back he would climb up and purr loudly so happy for the early morning contact. In his last days he preferred to sleep part of the night next to me curled into the indentation of my body.

I remember how back in 1995 Graham chose him as a very small kitten at a cat sheler. The first night when we thought he disappeared, and I unscrewed numerous kitchen units until we discovered him keeping warm under the motor of the refridgerator. How as a kitten he would hide sitting on top on the LPs.

Marmite was a home cat never venturing far from our garden, when he went out at night he would return for his hard food "cocktail". His inability as a hunter , leaves and insects proved tricky for him. He was a large part of our lives, as Caroline and Graham left home, Marmite was a memory to an earlier time. He symbolised coming home, he greeted you on arrival, he lay on the bed for affection when I returned from work and got changed.

Today it seems that something has been ripped away from me, the house seems empty. I know I must clear away the objects that remind me of him. This morning as I walked past his dish, his footstall by the window I expect him to be there.

We will bury his ashes in the garden near his patio and plant a scrub in his memory. Today I feel so sad.

Marmite the Cat - August 1995- May 2010