Ava-puss

 Beth posted this on her Facebook page yesterday.

Goodbye Ava.

Today Ava had a planned euthanasia from the comfort of our own home. It was the first time I've used this service (Serenity) and I do recommend; it was very peaceful.

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Ava came to live with us many years ago; she and her sister Sofia were our first cats. It seems odd to think of that - haven't cats always been a central part of my life? But no, Ava was our first, and made that fact so. Alex was 9, and life was very different, and throughout all of those changes and difficulties there was always Ava.

In human form, Ava would have been a gentle, grandmotherly, elderly lady, enveloped in wool, with a kindly expression and a bag of peppermints in her pocket. She was always that way, and spent many years - nearly 18 of them - perfecting the act. She was sweet to people and the other cats alike, but, like all old ladies, wouldn't take any nonsense. With humans she would stalk off with much dignity, tail swishing, before graciously forgiving with a sniff or a lick; with cats she'd do likewise, with the occasional thwap doled out to impertinent kittens. She'd then wash their ears thoroughly before sending them on their way... peppermints after chastisement.

For all her floof - glorious grey tabby smoke, half-Persian, plush billowy clouds of floof - she was slightly built and struggled her whole life to keep decent amounts of weight on. This despite a healthy enthusiasm for food, and a strong insistence on a cheese tax every time I opened the fridge. She was dainty, pointing out her toes like a ballerina and always moving with such grace- so unlike either her sister or the rough and tumble Tonks!

Ava was my workmate by day, hanging out on the table as I typed, talked and toiled, and attending all my meetings religiously, just out of camera shot. By night she would sleep on my head, a task she inherited from Indigo, who in turn took on the duty from Sofia. She would groom me regularly, huffing with disapproval, and I would always feel a complete urchin, but fortunate for her care and consideration. She loved a brush and kept her own fur immaculately.

She stopped coming on the bed on Tuesday night - I was in a lot of physical pain and restless and I wondered if that had kept her away but it was a change - she didn't ever return to the bed after that. Instead, she held court from the dining table, now empty of all work accoutrements of course. I made her a comfy nook and after a few hours' suspicious glaring she declared it acceptable. The other cats, and hoomans, came to her, as was right and proper of course; Queen Ava surveying her minions. When she wanted anything she'd spring down, incredibly sprightly for a cat of nearly 18, but soon returned to her nook.

The last few days have been all about Ava. Whatever she wanted. Lots of pets, brushes and love. She quickly realised if she stood in the kitchen and shrieked (amusingly, sounding very much like 'NAOW!') she immediately got offered snacks, chicken, cheese, etc. She therefore did this a lot, and Peter has been much confused that this technique hasn't worked so well for him.

And now she's gone, after all this time, a gentle end for a gentle lady. My dear friend, companion and confidante. Thank you.