Jonathan: A neighbour phoned just after I got back from the croft: Amanda said she had sad news, her husband on his way to work had seen Minty by the roadside and wanted us to know straight away (Paul couldn’t stop because the junction has poor visibility – he could have been hit from behind). They wanted us to know immediately. I ran out of the house with the phone still in my hand, desperate to believe it wasn’t true: but there she was lying on the cold road: there was just a mark and a little blood on one side of here head, but otherwise it was if she had just lain down for a snooze in the sun. She was still warm, but after checking carefully for any sign of breath or pulse, there was no doubt she was dead. I just cradled her there in the road, overtaken with grief at the loss of precious life. Those that can’t organise their lives to be in time, put a higher value on speed and technology than they do on precious and innocent life: they expect others to pay the price of their own foolishness.
Minty and Tom were born to a feral cat on a bed of straw in a disused old duck-house in the garden in April. Feral cats can expect a very hard life – and very short. For once we intervened and took away the kittens. There were five kittens in all: three were adopted by a lovely couple who were our guests staying at Carrick: one of theirs died naturally whilst still being nursed by hand, but Bumble and Bee, like our Minty and Tom were fortunate to have safe, loving homes where they could develop their own characters. By contrast, their mother – Queenie we called her – was found dead by the roadside a month or two after the kittens were born.