It’s time for a personal post today. Normally I would reserve this for my personal blog I’m Not Doctor Who, but since the last time I regrettably had to do this it was here on MoeGamer, it’s only fair to the departed that this time it’s here, too.

Today we lost our beloved Meg, our cat who joined our family back in 2016. She was just 12 years old, but sadly she was suffering with what looked like fairly severe liver cancer and had to leave us before what we all thought “her time” should be.

Much like when we lost her playmate Ruby — who we suspect may have been her daughter, though we have no real confirmation of this — I wanted to leave a permanent record of the mark Meg made on our family and lives, and celebrate how much she was loved.

Both Ruby and Meg came from a local rescue centre. They were very much a pair; while they contrasted quite significantly in personality, it was clear that they had spent their entire lives together. As such, when we lost Ruby unexpectedly to an accident, Meg was hit hard by it. But she soldiered on, and took well to Patti, a nervous little black cat who we took in to give Meg some company, since she was clearly pining for Ruby.

I say she “took well” to Patti; the first few weeks of them being together were interesting, to say the least. Patti expressed her nervousness by launching herself at Meg at high speed, causing Meg to initially be somewhat wary of her; as time went on, though, Meg grew to at the very least tolerate her and, though she would never admit this, love her.

For Meg was a Grumpuss, you see — or at least she liked to put that impression across. I don’t think she really was grumpy most of the time, but she had a face that looked like she disapproved of everything going on around her — particularly anything Patti had something to do with. But it was clear that it was just a front; any time Patti decided to hide or we had to take her to the vet or something, Meg made it very obvious that she was worrying about her.

And her caring nature applied to us, too. I loved Meg so much at least partly because she reminded me in attitude of my childhood cat Penny, who would always come and “look after” any member of the family who was suffering for one reason or another.

Meg had incredible empathy skills, and knew exactly when what you needed more than anything else was a cat to just come and sit with you. I’ve lost count of the number of times I was lying feeling hopeless and depressed in bed, and Meg came to come and look after me. She didn’t actually do anything beyond sit with me — usually either on me, or in such a way that she was pressed up against me — but that was enough. Her presence was comforting. And now it’s gone.

Meg reminded me of Penny in other ways, too, perhaps most notably in her love of “human food”. She would do anything for a little piece of ham or cheese, and on more than one occasion she sat down for Christmas dinner with us as a special treat. She was always well-behaved, though; while she would certainly “beg” for things when the fridge opened, she rarely went so far as to steal things.

Except for one memorable occasion, when Andie had made some sort of sausage-based casserole stew-type thing. We forgot that we’d left the pot out overnight, and when we came down in the morning, we found half a sausage sitting on the kitchen floor, along with a noticeable hole in the (rather thick) stew mixture, suggesting that Meg had precisely picked out a single sausage from the pot without disturbing anything else, consumed enough to satisfy herself, then left the evidence behind as if to say “and what are you going to do about it?”

I have any number of stories like that I could tell about Meg. She was such a strong personality, and beloved by everyone who came to our house. She was the kind of cat who could pick out the “person who didn’t like cats” from a lineup, and convert them to a cat-lover within five to ten minutes. She was more than just a pet; she was a beloved family member, and that’s why losing her hurts so much.

But we had to say goodbye; it was the right thing to do. She was so sick, to the point that she wasn’t eating, that it was heartbreaking to see her in such a sorry state. But at the same time, we knew that she was hanging on for our sake. We knew that she didn’t want us to be sad, so even though over time it clearly got to a point where it hurt for her to do anything, she would still come and spend time with us, and she stubbornly refused to let go and leave us behind. She would sit on a cushion next to me while I played games, or she would sit on Andie in bed, or she would just hang out in the same room as us, content to be in our company.

But sometimes, no matter how much you love someone and you wish your time with them could last forever, you just have to say goodbye. And while we wish Meg could have just passed peacefully at home surrounded by the warmth of family, we couldn’t bear for her to keep suffering for our sakes. I don’t know how long she would have clung on out of sheer stubbornness, but we had to let her go. It was the right thing to do. And as we laid her to rest, she looked happy.

Meg, we love you and we will never forget you. We’re sorry we occasionally called you Princess Professor Megatron Meowington the Third, but you brought out our childish, happy sides even during dark times. Our life was richer, more joyful and more colourful for your presence, and we hope — no, we know — you understand what an important part of our family you were. We hope you are at peace now and that, reunited with Ruby, you will continue to watch over us forevermore; in exchange, we’ll keep a watchful eye on Patti for you. She misses you already.

Goodbye, Meg. You deserve eternal happiness. I hope you have found it.