Yesterday, 12th December, at 6.15 pm our cat Cornelia crossed over the rainbow to rejoin her mother, her brothers and her sisters in that part of the happy hunting ground specially dedicated to felines. Born in a wood pile near our garden in 2005, the same year that we started to live in our old appenine village house, Corniglia was the last to survive of a brood of five kittens which, after a friend’s suggestion, I named after each of the five coastal towns of Liguria’s ‘Cinque Terre’. She was the most independent of the quintet and for most of her life she would not even allow herself to be touched by us, unlike her brothers who were rather more sociable with humans. More recently, however, Corniglia (or ‘Cornelia’, as she was usually pronounced) became more approachable and would allow herself to be patted and petted. Unfortunately her health began to suffer too and Corniglia became thinner and thinner until she seemed to weigh little more than a feather. Her fur too, once so bright and lustrous, became more and more unkempt. It was clear that our oldest cat, whose existence was contemporary with the start of our life in this mountain village, was finding it increasingly difficult to groom herself.

Cornelia had always been a ‘wild’ cat. For most of her life she had been very standoff-ish and very independent. She showed her strong character to the full in the last day spent with us. My wife had left Cornelia on the grey deckchair on the terrace. With the morning sun shining brightly and casting its rays upon the frozen landscape it became warmer to stay outside rather than inside our house. Cornelia so loved basking in that poignantly short winter warmth. Meanwhile we had to leave our old house to carry on moving our wordly goods to our new place. Sandra took one last look at Cornelia before we left. But she was no longer seated on the deckchair! We looked for her everywhere in and around the house. Cornelia was nowhere to be seen! Reluctantly we left the house returning, after completing our chores, five hours later. Cornelia was, again, nowhere to be seen! A thorough house search revealed nothing. Had she fallen in the water-tub? Had she been attacked by some wild animal? Had she so sadly, and like so many domestic animal companions, left the family home to seek some lonely spot in the forest to lay down her little body and die in peace far from those who loved her?

These thoughts circled round and round our restless minds until we became resigned to Cornelia’s final disappearance. It was then that Sandra decided to go into the garden. She opened the front door and, lo and behold, Cornelia suddenly appeared by her side! The little, emaciated cat stumbled a couple of times before Sandra picked her up and took her to the warmth of the fireplace. Yes, Cornelia was still alive! She had made the effort, for her, superhuman – or rather, superfeline – to wait for our return. We felt truly privileged and touched. Sandra took Cornelia upstairs and cradled her in her arms in the snugness of our bed.

(Last photo of Cornelia when still alive).

Our brave little independent cat, our Cornelia who had seen us into our house now left us sixteen years later at the time we too were leaving it. Wrapped in my wife’s arms, contented that she had garnered the little strength remaining to her and wait for us to return Cornelia gave up her last breath and entered that world where her soul would merge with those of her mother, brothers and sisters and become one with the great spirit of creation.

Sad but elated we left Cornelia: her fragile body which only that morning had still been able to leap up stairs and bend itself round corners, her fur, once so fine, but which now had become ragged because she was no longer able to properly look after, her eyes, her piercing eyes turned quite green as if staring into the vast eternity into which she was now entering, Cornelia now lay on the rocking chair ready to find her final resting place within mother earth.

That earth shall not be the surrounding of the old house where her partner tomcat Napoleon lies but our new home where we too, we trust, shall find our own final resting place.

Deep within our heart

shrivelled leaves remain scattered

and all whispers cease.