Goodbye Martha

Ten and a half years ago we picked up two tabby kittens from a family in a small Cotswold town. They'd put them on Freecycle, which is against the rules (no animals) but as they had...
I grew up with a lovely brown tabby called Jenny. Apparently I chose the name aged 3 but nobody knows where I'd heard it.
My husband and I have had various cats over the years, rescued from different shelters, but I always hoped there'd be a tabby. So I emailed the family. I don't think you're supposed to advertise animals on Freecycle but as you have, could we come and see them? Two little boys, both beautiful. Well, we couldn't  take one without the other.
My son was reading the Church Mice books at the time, a series of children's books on the adventures of  the church mice, led by Humphrey and Arthur, taking along Sampson the church cat.

Humphrey and Arthur they were. We took them to the vet who asked us to repeat their names again? And so Arthur naturally became Martha and Humphrey after some deliberation became Elsie. They were the gentlest and most tolerant kittens. My preschool-aged daughter would wrap them up in blankets and push them around in a dolls pram. I don't think they ever scratched anybody (I used to go to work with shredded hands with my previous kitten).

They were definitely outdoor cats and Martha in particular would disappear for days at a time and then turn up demanding food. I can't get it to copy on to the blog, but I still have a poster on the computer that the children made aged 10, 8 and 5 with a photo and asking people to look out for a 'small brown tabby cat with white paws'  because she'd taken herself off whilst we were on holiday and didn't come back. They put it up round the village but she turned up early one morning, miaowing hungrily.

She was brave. For a little cat to take on an adult rat takes on some courage and apparently is rare amongst cats not raised by ratting mothers, but she brought them back from the fields. She had a collar with several bells to discourage bird catching but it didn't seem to hinder her.

Martha was diagnosed with a tumour around her bowel last May. She astounded the vet by responding to treatment much better than expected and had a happy summer, still taking excursions (and messing up her medicine regime) and snoozing under an apple tree.

She looked increasingly frail from Christmas time and despite eating huge amounts of kitten food was getting very thin.

Last weekend it was clear we had to make a decision as brave to the end, she was hanging in there. When we took her to the vets, the nurse that had helped with the diagnosis last year asked to say goodbye because Martha had been so lovely. Much missed, she's sleeping under the apple tree.