Pat a cake, pat a cake

Bakers man

Bake me a cake as fast as you can

Pat it, and prick it

And mark it with C

And out it in the Oven for Molly and me

Molly Kitten was born in our cupboard on the 1st of May 2000. We told Tom he could pick a kitten from the five born, and he picked another one. But this naughty kitten picked us, and she would come out of the cupboard and do naughty things to make us laugh, needless to say Tom changed his mind.

Molly died in my arms at twenty minutes past midnight last night. She saw in the New Year in my arms, held close and loved, just as I promised her she would be.

I know she was loved from the moment she was born, until the moment she died, she was my beautiful girl. All her life I have recited the above nursery rhyme to her, whilst she let me pat her paws; and at the end, during the closing days, I would stroke her and whisper it to her as a comfort.

She had many names, not least Cowbag Kitten because she was so naughty; but through her long life she was also known as Princess Tippytoes, Madam Pomfrey, Shark tail, and most of all my beautiful green eyed girl.

When we brought new kittens home she would immediately become their surrogate mum. I know Tilly was coming to take her home, we lost Tilly nearly two years ago. Last night Daisy lay behind me on the sofa as I held her, and Diddies lay close by. Everybody loved her so.

When RD was gone during ‘The War’ Molly would lay one side of me on the sofa, with our old Westie, Snowy the Dude, on the other side of me. It was as if they were hugging me, telling me I would be okay. I know that dog will be part of the contingent who came to take her to rainbow bridge.

She never liked the cold, my Mil Mol Hol Pol. She was never happier snuggled somewhere warm, or in the hot sun in summer. When she was two years old she jumped out of our bedroom window onto,our flat roof and landed in two inches of snow, the look in her face as she turned to me and meowed, as if to say WTF is this?

She was a prolific hunter, especially birds, so when we moved her to live by the sea and a seagull that was bigger than her landed on our balcony one day she just stopped in her tracks, and looked at Rich and Meowed loudly, as if to say ‘why have you bought me somewhere where birds can eat me?’ It didn’t stop her climbing up the roof to take a look at their nest though, resulting in both her and me being dive-bombed by angry seagulls.

She was fourteen when we brought her to France, she retired to the continent and spent her last days in front of the fire or laying in the baking sun. She loved milk and cream, and food, and ate up to her last day.

She didn’t want to go, she wanted to stay forever, because all she had ever known was love, and all she ever gave was love. But I whispered to her last night to let go, go with them and wait for me, until I arrive one day.

We have to bury her today, I know that what is lovingly wrapped in a towel downstairs is just Molly’s shell, her spirit has gone, but I will find it so hard to leave her in the cold.

Farewell my beautiful green eyed girl, I promised you that you would die with mummy and daddy and you did. The kitchen was empty this morning without you there to meow hello.

I lied I will cry, I am crying now.

Mummy