A bit heartbreaking, looking at your photos, gintonic. My beautiful young Siamese, Hendricks, was hit by a car a couple of weeks ago. She arrived home howling in distress, dragging her back end. A panicked phone call from my daughter had me rushing home from working late, and an ensuing dash to the emergency vets proved our worst expectations - her back was broken, and we had to have her put down on the spot. The whole experience was traumatic and deeply distressing. She had been given to me as a gift from my children a year or two after her predecessor had died of cancer at 10 years old, and like all Siamese had developed a very singular personality. We all adored her, and she has left a gaping hole in the household. Everything seems so awfully quiet and empty. I feel absurdly emotional just writing this, and that for a nearly 60 year old man from a farming background long used to dealing with animals coming and going.
It is debatable what may constitute 'too soon', but a few days ago I was presented with an archive box apparently full of fabric but which, upon closer investigation, contained the smallest scrap of tatty, non-too good smelling fluff imaginable. It is, I am informed, a Russian Blue, a breed of which I had never heard, but which apparently have similarly individual characters to Siamese. They are said to be rather beautiful, though there is no evidence of that at all, at least so far. It seems to have gained the titles, variously, of 'Scrap' and 'Raggy'. For something so very small, it is already assertive, and when not sleeping requires fairly constant human attention, needing to nestle as close to the neck as possible, and yelling in indignation when ignored. The other day she found a comfortable spot whilst my daughter was washing up, and there she stayed for a good 10 minutes.