The old fella stirred sleepily in his basket as the pig farmer reminded him it was gone 11 and chucking out time. He showed no signs of wanting to wake up properly, let alone be turfed out of the kitchen into a draughty barn.

So I picked the basket up and carried him out to the workshop area of the barn and placed him gently in a quiet corner on top of the washing machine. He stirred, looked up and tucked himself back in.

And that was the last time I saw Trevor.

We’ve hunted neighbouring fields and derelict buildings, asked neighbours, put up a poster in the local shop and shouted myself hoarse, but he’s not been seen since April 2 and I’ve long since resigned myself to the fact he’s not coming back.

Trev first turned up 13 years ago, brought back to Sally’s house in Wolverhampton by her youngest son and, cheerfully ignoring the fact they were leaving for a holiday in Tenerife two days later, the decision was made to keep him.

Even more determinedly independent than most cats, Trevor became a family favourite very quickly, doing exactly what he wanted, when he wanted.

Long-time readers of the blog will recall his move from Wolverhampton to my house in Shrewsbury and then the long haul with me in the van up to Orkney a couple of years later. The full story is here.

Once safely in Orkney, Trevor settled in, enjoying the open spaces and becoming king of the barn, although proving absolutely useless at catching mice (that’s townies for you). And even with the arrival of Frida the feral-turned-very tame cat, he seemed happy enough in a grumpy old git kind of way.

Trev – who also couldn’t “miaow” properly – had used up several of his lives already and now it looks as if his ninth has gone the same way. I miss him.

Cheerio old mate.

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9 Responses to Trevor

  1. QuizMistress says:

    Oh dear. I got slightly teary over this! Sorry for your loss…

  2. Z says:

    It’s worst of all when you don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry.

  3. dinahmow says:

    Oh bugger! That’s just how Rusty went and now I’m sniffling all over again…
    Sorry for you, Malc, but your” Cheerio, old mate” is the way to see it.

  4. Frith says:

    I’m so sorry Trevor is gone Malcolm, as Z said it seems harder when it’s a mystery. I had to have my cat put to sleep last October – it was very difficult and very sad, lots of crying. But I felt, for a few weeks afterward, like there was a conduit opened up between me and the otherworld – that my cat left the door open behind him for a bit. I grieved and missed him too, but it was mysterious and peaceful as well. I hope you’re able to connect to the greater universe through Trevor’s going away and it isn’t painful for too long.

  5. Iain says:

    So sad. I know I’d be bereft if I were to lose my daft little booger, Charlie. I simply adore him! Good luck.

  6. Martin says:

    That is sad news. Trev was a real character. I was looking forward to seeing his crooked smile again. Cheerio.

  7. Two months. Sadly it looks as though Trevor may be gone forever. I can very much identify with this tale as our Boris also disappeared a year or two ago. At times I thought of him as my best friend. Is that sad or what?

  8. Frith says:

    I should add that I still talk to my cat, so no, Yorkshire Pudding, I’m not surprised that you thought of your cat as your best friend. It’s been embarrassing explaining to my son why I ask “What shall we do about this, Toby?” to thin air in the back yard, but it feels good to me. How’s the summer going Malc? I’m missing your posts. Hope all’s well, Trevor’s absence aside.

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