R.I.P. Woolielegs
She ate birds (left the wings), bacon and other bits she could scrounge from Jimmy and Martin, sunbathed like tame cats do, and had that odd self-possessed air (some call it arrogance) that is a feature of feline creatures.
She survived outdoors most winters but had recently moved in to Jimmy's house, I hear, where she actually played around like a domesticated cat.
She survived some horrible injuries (possibly being attacked by a seagull, or maybe being hit by a passing car) but could not survive her own illness.
She was like a little guardian of the cottages, wandering around doing her cat-chores, following the cat map, running through wild animal routines and communicating with humans when necessary in a squeaky little voice.
Poor Woolielegs, I will miss you, and the idea of you too.
2 Comments:
Aww poor Woolielegs, she sounds lovely.
That story really touched me Helen. I thought it was RIP Woolies at first glance then realised it was about the loss of a friend and an era.
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