Goodbye Mister Mo

There’s some advantages over having pets you regard as your children, rather than having actual children. You don’t have to buy clothes for them, get them into any schools – good or otherwise – and they never answer you back. Of course, there are downsides too, amongst them being that if there’s something wrong with them they can’t give you any indication of it. Which is why we said goodbye to Mojo today, after perhaps weeks of his having a tumour in his abdomen. Lymphoma. Cancer. Google searches I’d rigidly veered away from. The lump could be anything. He could have swallowed something. God knows he’s been licking and attempting to eat pretty much everything lately, which we now know was a sign of his condition.

I’ve said that I wish I’d taken the day off work, gone to the vets with Andy, and had a chance to say goodbye to him properly, but then again I remember saying goodbye to the only dog I’ve ever owned and it broke me to pieces.

Instead, the task fell to my boyfriend, and as the cat was really and truly his cat, I’m sort of glad. He deserved to have that time with him. They were the best of friends. There weren’t many hours of their waking moments when they weren’t side by side, or when Mojo wasn’t clambering over Andy’s lap,drooling on his leg and making him wince with his needle claws.

Memories of Mojo will be at the front of my mind for a long time yet; here are some.

– driving back from picking him up from his mummy cat’s house with him nestled in my hair

– when we brought him home he had a scratch across his nose from fighting and his face was dirty. He looked like a right little ruffian.

– for months as a young cat he’d nest in my hair, leaving deep scratches in my scalp. Eventually we had to trim his claws so I wouldn’t be bleeding everywhere

– when either of us was in the bath he’d be on the chair next to it, helping us wash by licking us. He liked the bath – once he climbed onto my tummy while I was in it!

– when he fractured his tail and we found him curled up in the corner of my bed, hurting and upset

– the way he’d open his mouth to meow but no noise would come out

– the dewdrop gathering under his pink little nose when he was happy, and the yucky splash when it landed (once on my lips)

– the way his furry little tummy swung when he was trotting along

– the way his ringed tail stuck straight up in the air

– how sweet and gentle he was. How loving. How beautiful.

– how he had so many names I’ve forgotten some. His full name was Maurice John Joseph Job. Mojo Jojo for short. But also: Moomin, Mojin, Mimbles, Mimbletown Mo, Mo Jimmy Jo, Motron Bomb, Magic Mo, Monkey Mo, and Lord Weebag Trumpington

I will always love you Mister Moomin


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