The most beautiful cat in the world is dead

William Bedford Payne died Monday October 26th at Cogges Veterinary Surgery of a merciful overdose at the age of fourteen years. He had cancer of the tongue and was finding it difficult to eat or wash himself. He did not go gentle into that good night but fought, biting me several times, until a sedative did its work.

He was cheerful to the end, despite the pain. Only a fortnight ago he caught and brought back a weasel - he had always been an accomplished hunter. On the last night of his life he came for a walk with me and when I went in, spent the early evening checking his territory before coming in for the night.

William was serious and conscientious about territory. Each morning he would pause at the back door which I opened for him (he preferred this to the cat flap) and sniff the air with care. Then he would pad round to the willow tree at the front of the house, pausing to inspect the cars to see if there were new smells on the wheels.

He often sat for a while gazing towards the hedge from where the rabbits had played in the cart track the night before. Then he would go back to the garden, walk up past the box plant (which he often sprayed) towards the pond and the long grass where he sometimes caught mice. This was his world and it was important to him to make sure that all was well in it.

On the last evening, though it must have hurt - he had a cracked pelvis too - he jumped on to the bed and slept alongside me. On the last morning, he ate a little cat food from my hand (which included pain killers), took a nap, then went out again to check his territory as usual though (he did not know it) for the last time in the autumn sunlight. He came back into the house, and I took him on his final journey.

William started life living in a household full of 70 cats. He came to me via Cats Protection and his health problems - fleas, mites, giardia, and others - meant a vets bill of £800 way back in l995. He spent so long at the vets - in London - that the staff named him Mr Purr.

Not only was he a great hunter, but he was also an accomplished performer. He jumped little jumps. He sat up and begged. He offered a paw, always the right one, to shake. He lay down and died for his country. In the last year of his life he learned to roll over on command - though, for some reason, would only roll one way. He would also roll on his side putting his paws together (see that in the picture) in a praying position - just for the reward of my full attention.

William was not a difficult cat but he was never a cuddle cat either. He enjoyed my company but always at a distance. He preferred games to petting - showing that he was playing by his demeanour (see the picture in the snow). On the last evening of his life he thought about running up the willow tree to show off to me and realised he could no longer had the strength for it. Instead, with dignity he rubbed against the garden bench, as if the willow tree had been furthest from his mind. He would not show weakness.

He kept his independance to the end - refusing to let me help get rid of the knots that began to appear when he could no longer wash himself properly.

William, you showed no signs of pain. You did not complain or ask for food when you found you could not longer eat properly. You did not cuddle closer to me on the bed for comfort but kept what you felt was a proper affectionate distance that last night together.

You have shown me how to die with integrity and dignity. May I show the same qualities of bravery and serenity when it is my time.

Farewell, William, Mr Purr. I shall miss you with all my heart. Celia

PS. The blog will start again in November