Gillian In Oz

Please note: this is fairly long and very image heavy. It's primarily for myself, but I've made it public to share with anyone who'd like to read.





I've been trying to write this post for a week and a half, since Sasha left us, but I've found it really hard - harder than memorial posts I've written for other cats over the years. It's not because losing Sasha was any more or less painful than losing any of those other cats. They've all left empty spaces that will never quite be filled, because they were all unique.

I think it's that losing Sasha marks a bit of an end of an era. He was the last of the group of cats that we had in the first decade of the century, the last of a generation of our cats - and the last of the cats from when we lived in the Blue Mountains before coming here. I was used to thinking of him as young in comparison to the (*counts*) eight cats that came before. I think, also, there was always a bit of a youthful quality to Sasha, even when he got old. It was hard to believe, this last year, that he was the oldest cat. It's even harder now to believe that he's gone.

And now I've worked all that out, I'll finally tell Sasha's story.

( Sasha's story )