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Dear Leo

You came into our lives a wee bundle of fun. For the last 18 and a bit years years you have given us so much memories.

You used to keep us awake with your caterwauling. If truth be told we thought you were a bit of a bully because you came home without a scratch on you. I remember the time I had to take a ten minute detour to pick my youngest up from school as you were playing with a mouse in the front garden and I hate rodents.

You loved tuna, we couldn’t open a tin of tuna without you getting half and as for roast chicken, you used to stand guard beside the oven while it was cooking.

You loved bringing us home gifts. One of those gifts was a bird, what fun we had chasing it all over the house as you looked on wondering what all the fuss was about.

We have been taking you back and forth to the vet for the last month but you haven’t been getting any better and today you took a turn for the worst. We knew the time had come and we took you on your last journey to the vet. Farewell to you our lovely cat. You will be so missed.

Mags xx

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awww Mags so sorry you have lost your lovely Leo,you must be heartbroken.

((((((((((((((((((( Hugs)))))))))))))))))))

J x

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Oh goodbye dear Leo. Very sad to read this. He had a good life…and a long life!

Thinking of you Mags,

Pat xx

Thanks Mrs J and Pat. He had a happy life and didn’t want for anything. I keep saying he owned us not the other way round.

We have our youngest daughters cat staying with us while she is on placement and she’s a bit lost as well.

Mags xx

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You have some great memories of him Mags, I’m sure the pain will ease with time and you will remember him with a smile.

Jan x

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Bless you Mags, it’s so hard losing a pet. He was obviously a little character who you loved and I’m sure he knew it. Thinking of you.

Cath xx

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Oh Mags, I am so sorry to hear this, thinking of you ((((hugs))))

See peaceful Leo x

Pam x

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** should say sleep not see, sorry

Pam x

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Hi Mags,

I like to think of characters like Leo as having gone because they have important work to do elsewhere. They live on in your happy memories they are still contributing to a cosmic force for good.

Incidentally, I am an atheist so I don’t have an agenda on this sort of thing. It’s just an idea that I’ve created or adopted.

A.

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Mags, so sorry to hear of your loss. They do become so much a part of the family and so much loved, don’t they?

our two are nearly 18, and the boy is diabetic and getting pretty feeble, so I’m dreading the inevitable day. I always cry when we lose a cat (six others since 1975) but this time there will be the additional problem- should we have another?

Treasure your memories of Leo, a feline star!

Kev x

Thanks Kev. I’d been dreading this day because he was getting older. I knew he couldn’t live forever. He was never at the vets apart from the yearly injection. I’m just grateful that his illness was short and he wasn’t in pain. They do become part of the family. I came in from work yesterday and said my usual ‘Hi there, Leo’ and then remembered.

As for getting another, we have both said no but never say never. Watch this space…!

Anyway we are looking after our youngest daughters cat while she is on work placement. I am secretly hoping she will ’ forget ’ to take her back as she is a lovely wee thing.

Hope you have yours for a long time to come.

Mags xx

Thanks A, He certainly was a character and I like the idea of him being a cosmic force for good. Lol!

Mags xx

Hi Mags,

I’d to share with you a deeply personal experience I had about my outlook on the “important work to do elsewhere” theme (look away now all you rubberneckers). It will help you understand what I meant by it. And how it influenced my attitude towards my own disability and the hurt and pain that so many others feel regardless of the cause.

My mother, a highly trained and experienced nurse, developed many secondary cancers a few years after polyps were removed in about 1982. One developed in her brain. On the day she went to the consultant, she sat down, and as he shuffled her notes (the way they do) she said, “It’s a brain tumour, isn’t it?” - More of statement than a question.- He replied, "I’m so glad you told me because I didn’t know how I was going to tell ".

After he had pulled himself together he suggested, “While we sort out your treatment I’ll prescribe some Valium for you”.

She told him, “Strike out Valium and write in champagne”.

And that was exactly how she spent the last seven months of her life in 1985. I saw people who came to visit her who were maudlin and full of pity. They usually left a few hours later with tears of laughter running down their faces, fuelled by brandy and her magnificent ability to help people in distress and incorrigible sense of humour. She left us in a blaze of glory and an inspiration to everyone and me in particular. My eyes still water, as they always do when I think about her, and as I type this, with warm glow in my heart and a huge, moist smile on my face.

During that time she felt that she felt that she was being called to do “Important Work Elsewhere”

She was 59. And I miss her every day and will continue to miss her every day until its my time. Whatever it is or wherever it is, she’ll be there. And we’ll doing that important work together.

Some people called an angel, others called her a star.

I called her Mum.

And 2016 has sorely tested a lifetime’s devotion to atheism. Which she would find hugely amusing.

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I,m so sorry for your loss Mags…Our pets are so much part of our families its heartbreaking when they die.

Love Michelle x

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