16/06/2024
Gibson was here.
There was nothing Gibson adored more in life than the excitement of food and meeting new people. He was the kind of cat who was immediately in the lap of almost anyone he met, and he brightened the days of a lot of people in his life.
I once caught Gibson with an entire rotisserie chicken, trying desperately to drag it out of the kitchen, as though he'd tackled an elk. He was covered in grease and happy as could be.
The cancer that affected his tongue slowly made it more and more difficult to eat, but he often still tried, and by the end of his life he had become frail and quiet, but I had the privilege of being able to give him all the attention he wanted and hold his food for him so he could try to eat it. He got salmon and ribeye steaks, sausages, and roasted chicken.
In the final weeks he spent almost every moment on my shoulder or sleeping on my chest, and the very last thing he got to do was meet two brand new people who came to the house.
He fell asleep being brushed and petted.
I buried him close to where he and Jones loved to sit by the window in the sunlight and watch the birds and insects, so when Jones sits there now and watches the small and interesting things, some part of Gibson will be some part of them.
Gibson was here. He is loved.
