WHEN SAM SAW PETER
My friend’s cat had died a week ago, but nobody had told Sam. So he seemed to notice nothing amiss when we went to visit Yvonne. She greeted us as usual and led us through to her sitting room.
About six months earlier she'd downsized from a large house to a much smaller one and her huge sofa rather dominated her somewhat restricted space.
Not that that was in any sense a problem - except that, today, Sam stared at it as if mesmerized.
His focus started on the left-hand arm of the sofa, then moved up to its wide (and very long) back, before dropping down to the right-hand arm.
At this point his fur bristled and he emitted a sound like a low, deep growl.
Yvonne and I watched him, heard him, and then turned to each other.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked me.
"What else is there to think?" I said.
Meanwhile Sam tentatively (almost on tiptoe!) approached the right-hand arm and it was as though he were inspecting its occupant - reservedly, but nevertheless with considerable interest.
Then, satisfied, he lay down in his usual position on the floor just below the place where Peter habitually lay.
Both Yvonne and I felt slightly dazed.
Peter, in life, had always arrived at his favourite place on the sofa via a leap on to its left-hand arm, a casual stroll along the back and a slide down to the arm he regarded as his domain.
Sam's gaze had just followed this exact route as though Peter were still very much in the room.
Yvonne smiled, saying: "Good to know he hasn't gone far!"
"Just out of our sight," I agreed, "but not out of Sam's. That's all too apparent, thankfully."
