Dylan

Not Dylan, but this cat looks just like. Can't find a picture anywhere. This image was borrowed from Wikimedia Commons

Not Dylan, but this cat looks just like him. Can’t find a picture anywhere. This image was borrowed from Wikimedia Commons.

We’re adopting a kitten from a wonderful cat rescue centre called The Kitten Inn next week, and it has made me think about my first cat, Dylan.

I moved out of Dad’s house and purchased my first home when I was twenty-three. It was a small, two-bed terraced, with a nice but lonely view of a granite quarry. I hated being the only soul in the house, and soon pootled along to the local RSPCA shelter to find myself a pet.

At the back of a cage in a crowded room, was a little black and white boy called Dylan. We locked eyes and knew that we were destined to fall hopelessly in love. Then he fell off his perch and that was that, he had to be mine.

Turned out he had annoying food allergies and a constant, loud meow that drove everyone mad, except me; I thought it was adorable.

In later years, my husband referred to Dylan as ‘Becca’s scabby little sidekick’, which I thought was harsh but fair.

One evening, Dylan didn’t come home for his supper. He didn’t turn up for breakfast the next day either. I left the house to walk to Regent’s College where I was on placement teaching English and Drama. As I exited our gate, a voice in my head, my voice in fact, repeated: don’t look right, don’t look right, don’t look right. And I didn’t.

I taught DH Lawrence’s Daughters of the Vicar, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and some of Stanislavski’s acting techniques to a conveyor belt of disinterested teenagers that day, all the while knowing that Dylan was dead and there was good reason why I’d told myself not to look right.

When I got home from school, I phoned all the local vets, and then I phoned the council.

‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ the lady on the phone said. ‘We did clear up a black and white cat from your street today.’

‘Is he dead?’

‘Er…yes.’

‘Can I come and get him?’

With admirable compassion, she said: ‘I’m sorry, but he went for cremation this afternoon.’

I’ll forever be grateful that she used the word ‘cremation’. It leant Dylan a bit of dignity, as if he’d been given a sort of funeral.

Sometimes, just one word used creatively and kindly can make all the difference.

D

P.s. I’m loving this challenge. I’ve discovered so many fascinating blogs and new writers to follow. Thanks to everyone who have left comments on mine. Here’s to a day off tomorrow though – Cheers x

See you Monday with an Elephant!

5 thoughts on “Dylan

  1. Aw. We have always had black and white cats. The first was adopted after he wandered into my shop from the banks of a nearby stream. Two have passed on, two have replaced them but we miss the ones who are gone. This post made me think of them. You’re making good progress with the challenge, keep it up.

  2. Hi,
    My first cat was Abbey. I had her 13 years and I loved her dearly. One day I came home and she was gone. Abbey was a yellow/brown tabby coloured cat but she was the sweetest cat in the world. So, I truly understand your lost with Dylan. It took me years before I could get another cat.
    Nice article.
    Visiting from the A to Z Blog Challenge 2015.
    Shalom,
    Patricia at Everything Must Change

  3. Oh, how sad for poor Dylan! We have two cats now and a puppy, if anything happened to any of them I’d be devastated. It’s nice that you’ll soon have a new kitten to join the family though. Kittens are such fun too, so playful.

  4. Oh, how sad for poor Dylan! We have two cats now and a puppy, if anything happened to any of them I’d be devastated. It’s nice that you’ll soon have a new kitten to join the family though. Kittens are such fun too, so playful. I’m looking forward to photos!!

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