Thank you, everybody, for your Chemo purrs. I am very sad to report
that Min's tumour was just growing too fast, and there was no time for
her even to be prepared for the treatment. She was helped to the
Bridge a few hours ago. My father, Min's foster-Paw just called to
tell me. He could barely speak.

http://rjs.project-black.co.uk/gallery/displayimage.php?album=4&pos=0

Min came to me from nowhere: appearing one day in the back garden,
checking over the accommodation and staff, and then moving right in. I
never got a say in the matter. Then when I went to live abroad, she
did the same trick again. She was only supposed to be fostered
temporarily with my father and stepmother, while a long-term foster
home was found. Strangely, after two weeks, the question of her moving
on simply never arose. Wherever she is now..., they just got a new
boss.

I remember her idiosyncracies. She loved being combed... so much that
I used to wear my motorcycle leathers to do it. The combination of
relentless clawing and kneading, with vast quantities of dribble and
loose fur meant it was the only sensible answer. I remember the
gratitude of her expression if I held the end of her tail still under
her nose so she could wash it, as it was normally quite out of her
control.

I remember her rich, easily-triggered purr. I was lucky to see her
last Sunday, and as if nothing was wrong she bared her tummy for a
good scritch and purred and purred and purred.

Please purr for Min's memory, and for her poor foster-humans who have
enjoyed her company for the last three years, and who are even more
lost and bereft than myself.

Al.