Today marks one year since Three-Paw’s ampuversary. I remember this day vividly. It’s not just in my head either; my bones and my nerves and my blood remembers it too. We got up so early to take the train into Florence.

The tumour  ( whom I had named Nick Nolte – long story) had become putrid; the smell was repulsive. I was worried about the other people in my carriage being disturbed by the odour but no one seemed to care. The only thing they noticed was how loudly Three Paw purred every time the train stopped.

 I remember saying goodbye. Knowing I might not see her again. Telling her that if she wanted to go, I would understand. I remember the fear as I wandered the stone streets, waiting for news. And then finally seeing her again. Just after her operation. Pupils dilated. She looked so small – she was only half a cat now. But she leaned into my hand purring and I knew we would be fine. I remember the tremendous rush in my blood when I knew that instead of putting her to sleep that morning (as people had suggested I do)  I would be bringing her home instead. And we had stolen time together and it would be magnificent. It was one of the most exhilarating and joyful days of my life.

A year later and I can still feel that rush of love through my bones when I think of how she showed me just how strong she was.  I have cried a lot today. A terrible ache in my heart that makes my eyes suddenly begin leaking as I walk down the street.

Her absence is a pain for which I have no cure.

But  O what a miracle she was.

O what a privilege.