Widgely decided he was my cat when he was pretty young. He used to move sideways, widgle, hence his name. He was black with a fine necklace of white hairs on his chest , very distinguished. In the summer I used to prop myself against the lilac trees with cushions and write poetry, Widgely would come and purr and walk all over me. He wanted a poem too, I did write one. I wonder where it got too?
He was very supportive each time my heart got broken (which was pretty regular at that time). He would make a big fuss of me and pat away my tears with his paws. When I used to go away for weekends with friends he would come to sabotage my packing. He would walk all over everything, sometimes with muddy paws and purr and generally get in the way.
When I finally left home at 26 he stayed with my parents, we lived on a farm and I was moving into town, it was for the best.
A few weeks after I moved, Mum was making the beds one morning, when she happened to look out of the window onto the road. She saw Widgely asleep on the road and called to him to move in case a car came. He didn’t respond. She went out and picked him up and put him in a bag in the shed so Dad could bury him when he got home. She put him in a paper bag, just incase…..