This is Nigel sitting ‘like a human’ in his least flattering pose.
Nigel’s early life is shrouded in mystery, but his two spells at the pet rescue center and subsequent three months under the sofa suggest that it was troubled. But once finally settled in the bosom of the family during Covid, he relaxed had started to enjoy the good life. Nigel would sit on our laps when we rested and show us the importance of being still, taking one day at a time and not worrying and fretting over many things. He was the glue that held the family together and we will miss him dearly. Here follow some of the words we said at his graveside.
Nigel, you were the best cat. We will miss you for:
The way that you use to sit like a human,
clean between your toes,
and leave a dent in the sofa.
The way you would eat anything and everything,
howl for food an hour before dinner time,
and angrily turn around your bowl so we couldn’t reach to put the biscuits in.
The way you stole our sleep by kneading at our hair,
crying to be let out at 3am,
and then hiding under the table.
The way you dozed away the summer under the rosemary bush,
chirped at insects as you chased them,
and never posed a threat to bird or mouse.
The way you weed on the bathroom mat,
on piles of clothes,
and unguarded shoes.
The way you pooed next to your litter tray, so we stepped on it in the dark,
enjoyed the smells of smelly boots and dirty clothes,
and didn’t waste much time on grooming your coat.
The way you got the cat next-door to defend your territory for you,
snuggled deep into us,
and were a warm scarf around our necks.
The way you licked the cutlery in the dishwasher,
pretended you hadn’t been fed,
and helped mother with her yoga.
The way you drank water from pot plant drip-trays,
from the algae-choked pond,
and, if all you had was the water in your bowl, how you spilt it.
The way you came running at the sound of a scraped bowl,
the crack of an egg,
or the smell of tuna.
RIP Nigel, May 2011-November 2025