I think I’m experiencing pet rescuer’s remorse

After the death of two cats in two years, Will Gore wonders whether getting a replacement was a wise idea

Claws for concern: our furry friends get away with a lot (Getty/iStock)

They were the best of felines, they were the worst of felines; they brought us light and they brought us darkness; pros and… prolapses. And like so many pet owners, when our previous cats finally pounced off this mortal coil, it wasn’t long before we forgot all their foibles and decided we really must get a replacement.

I have always had cats. The first one we got as a kitten when I was about six, and I settled on the highly original name, Tabby. She was a gentle old soul, who ruined all of my mother’s jumpers by persistently licking her left shoulder, and who had a longstanding friendship with our boy rabbit, Tulip (that name was my brother’s choice).

Tabby’s quiet life was brutally interrupted when we got a rescue cat some years later, who had already been given the very suitable name of Biff. He was a bruiser who gleefully ambushed Tabby at every available opportunity, and who would scratch the rest of us if we got too close: I still bear the scars. In old age he once crapped on my wife-to-be.