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Hamish

February 2nd, 2025

It falls to me to find the words to do justice to a ginger cat of some consequence.

Hamish had a rocky start. Fortunately he met Denise, a sure sign that life was about to change for the better, permanently. Trust me, I know. I don’t consider that I needed rescuing, but Hamish did.

And so it was only a short time after I started hearing stories about this very affectionate cat that the subject of these stories appeared one day in the fur at our clinic, ensconced in our then hydrobath room for a temporary stay while a permanent home was arranged. After a barely decent interval my wife suggested that, perhaps, Millpoint Vet Centre could be that permanent home.

I was hesitant. I knew that his care would inevitably fall upon the nurses, and they were very busy already. I wasn’t sure his arrival would be welcomed.

In coming to this conclusion I failed to consider two factors. The first was the kindness and compassion of my colleagues, present and past. The second and unknowable part was the one cat charm offensive Hamish launched upon us. Within a few weeks he was sharing lunches, positioning himself on the bench at reception for brushing and pats, or sprawling over whichever part of the waiting room furniture he had selected for that day’s rest.  It was as if he had been there always, and that he owned the place. In his own mind, I think he did.

There were a few bumps in the road. A penchant for nibbling only the largest and most costly bags of food left out for clients rendered them unsaleable and caused some friction. More importantly as far as he was concerned, our alarm system meant he had to be caged for a large part of each weekend. This was only a temporary stop on his journey to his own personal nirvana, however, as Rachael began to take him home at weekends. And the weekends and the holidays got longer with time.

There was no doubt where he preferred to be. Many a Monday evening I would come down from the office before leaving to find he had climbed into his cat carrier and expected to be whisked away. By Tuesday morning he had accepted his weekday role once again. For Hamish, life was good.

Until last Thursday when he lost the use of his back legs. His neurological status declined so quickly over the next twenty-four hours despite treatment that by Friday evening we had to make that decision that every pet owner dreads, and with which almost all are confronted.

Rachael, Christine, Andrea and I have all lost pets we loved before, and sadly we will do so again. Perhaps the difference now is that we are all grieving, because he bound us all together. We all loved him, and each of us will have our own memories of him. The image I have in my mind is of a fat and fluffy butt and tail disappearing around a corner as he padded off silently to see what was going on, find his next feed, or just choose a place to relax.

When I leave the keyboard on this Sunday morning I will descend the stairs and tour the clinic as I do, checking the doors are secure and that all the switches are set.  The ginger ninja won’t be in his igloo to supervise, and the place will feel empty. The practice will feel incomplete. He reminded us that every veterinary practice needs a practice cat.

But we will be in no hurry to replace him, for the simplest and most obvious of reasons. He is irreplaceable.

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