Her Name was Riley

I called her Riley because she came to me at a time when I was opening up to a more spiritual way of living. I looked up "prosperity" in the thesaurus and found "the life of Riley". I hadn't even met her yet, but I knew I wanted her name to remind me of what I had to be grateful for.

Growing up with dogs, being without one was one thing I missed during my twenties. While I was having lots of fun sharing homes with friends, I always promised myself that I'd get a dog when I bought my own home.

When that happened, though, I was working long days, and my conscience wouldn't let me leave a dog on its own all day. My friends who had grown up with cats encouraged me to think about a kitten, reassuring me that cats were happy with their own company.

I mentioned to one friend that I was thinking about this but still had some reservations. As a new homeowner, I felt a bit precious about my furniture and wasn't keen on the idea of it being scratched up.

I didn't have much time to ponder, though, as that friend rang me back a few days later with the news that a kitten was camping out in her back garden and refused to go away.

Heavily pregnant with her first child and also dealing with a rambunctious young dog, she couldn't take on the responsibility of the kitten too. Before surrendering it to a shelter, she reached out to me - and gave me a week to think about it.

At the time I took the call, I was browsing in a book shop before meeting two (cat-loving) friends for lunch. When I hung up the phone, I noticed a little book right in front of me called "How to Read Your Cat's Mind". Hmm, a sign perhaps?

I bought the book and then filled my friends in over lunch. Of course, they encouraged me to adopt it. But I still had my doubts. That evening I read that little book cover-to-cover and realized that my whole life, I'd been unfairly judging cats by dog's standards.

I rang my friend and said I'd take it and arranged to collect it the following weekend as she lived a couple of hours away from me. I hadn't considered at the time that I was making a 15 to 20-year commitment. I did not know that cats have the potential to live longer lives than dogs. Being something of a commitment-phobe, I've often wondered if I had known, would I have accepted her into my life.

But really, while I may have been rescuing her from the uncertain and challenging life of a stray, it turned out that I was the one being saved.

It was a hard time in my life. And Riley provided a welcome distraction on some days. But she was also a comfort and solace on the days when distraction wasn't doing the trick.

And so many times over the years, I've been so glad of my ignorance at the time of adoption. She stayed with me for the best part of 18 years, and I never regretted the decision to take her in. Quite the opposite – I've been so grateful for her. And never more so than in the past year, as she helped to keep me well throughout lockdown.

The vet placed Riley at 12 weeks old, which meant she was probably born at the end of April. Next week would have been her birthday.

A year and a half ago, she was diagnosed as being in the early stages of liver disease. She was still happy and content in herself, but I knew a day would come when that would change. I've been mentally preparing myself for the time when I'd have to say goodbye. That day came on April 2nd, and I'm still adjusting to the void.

It's only now dawned on me that I've never really lived alone before. Riley and I lived by ourselves, and we've also shared with others through different periods over the last (almost) 18 years. And now I know that living without another human is not the same as living without any sentient being for company.

Riley was wonderful company, even if sometimes cranky. We shared unconditional love, quickly forgiving one another for bites, scratches, or trips to the vet. I often lamented not having found myself in a similar situation with a male human companion.

She was a chatty cat, which I didn't realize was unusual at first. Not having any prior experience, I thought her conversations with me were normal. But cat-accustomed friends frequently commented on how vocal she was with me. We (mostly) understood what the other was saying.

I miss those chats, and it hits me hardest at bedtime. The words "time for bed Riley" were always the start of an argument every night, much like a parent might with a human teenager. Except I always found it cute, while I'm sure a parent finds it frustrating.

At first, she'd try ignoring me. As I repeated the words "bedtime," she would start to complain – somehow hoping for a different outcome from every other night. Eventually, she would give in, accepting the same fate as last night and the night before.

I'd always meant to record one of those arguments. Or one of the daily occasions when she would come to me demanding a treat, to be petted, or to have the poo scooped out of her toilet. It's pretty accurate that cats have servants rather than owners.

I didn't mind a minute of it. She converted me into a true cat-lover. Not that I love dogs any less, I have come to believe that a cat's love is truly a great honor.

Yes, I may have been her servant but I always felt privileged to be responsible for Riley's wellbeing, as she undoubtedly helped me with mine.

RIP, my beautiful friend. I will miss you forever.