In 2002, I brought a young, black, male, long-haired persian kitten home and named him Gotham. When I picked him up from the pet shop in Taipan, no one wanted him because his right front paw was injured. But so taken was I with him, that I saw beyond the injury and took him home anyway.
Last year, I moved to a new condo that didn't allow pets. So i was faced with the painful task of having to give him away. And gave him away I did, to a colleague's brother who loved cats. Every week, my colleague would fill me in on Gotham's progress at his new home. According to her, he was very happy. And why wouldn't he be? He had large open spaces to play in, compared to being cooped up in the apartment like before. And, he had female companionship as well. So, a happy camper he was.
Since then, I've left that company and I no longer get weekly reports from my colleague. Until tonight. I bumped into her at Centrepoint and naturally, I asked her how Gotham is. She told me he passed away a week ago. Apparently, he had been sick for a while and had to be taken to the vet almost everyday. So shocked was I that I didn't even ask what was wrong with him.
Anyway, he's gone now and I'm left wondering what would have happened had I kept him instead. Oh well, c'est la vie, at least he's not suffering anymore.
Goodbye, Gotham. You'll always be remembered...