We lost Banjo this past weekend. He was only fourteen months old.
He came to us on my birthday, in September. A heartbreakingly skinny jumble of skin and bone and dirty fur that weighed barely a pound despite being six months old, he’d been born feral with cerebellar hypoplasia, which made it hard for him to walk or even stand for long without falling over. I didn’t want to take on such a huge responsibility, didn’t want any more cats. But I couldn’t leave him and his sister to die miserable deaths, so we trapped them and brought them home.