Monty’s Story
Sunday, 19th September 2021, the day Monty came home.
I met Monty just 6 days earlier when I went with a friend to pick up his brother. It was safe to say that I fell in love with this tiny little furball, and he was the only one left in the litter, so it felt right to take him home.
I had always feared cats growing up, but not this one. I was struggling with my mental health at the time, and I thought maybe having something to come home to, something to love, might help. He did that and more; in truth, he saved my life.
Monty was my first pet, that was just mine, I got Monty from a family about 45 minutes away from my home; he didn’t make a sound the entire way home. Something I now find funny, given that Pop’s Monty's brother came from a family 10 minutes from my house and he didn’t stop making noise for the entire journey.
From the moment I got him home, I knew he would be just fine. Straight onto the bed and fast asleep, but as soon as I was there, he was right on me.
Monty was the kind of cat that would sit looking for you out of the window, waiting for you to come home, but he was also as mad as a box of frogs, and my goodness, did he make me laugh- just what I needed.
I recall thinking it was a good idea to get net curtains; I was wrong. They lasted all of a day before he managed to rip them, and they had to come down. He did the same with the actual curtains, but thankfully these were thicker.
Monty used to love playing games; he would hide one end of the corridor, and I’d poke my head out every so often; he’d stalk up the corridor before pouncing.
Monty was a very lovable cat; he had his set routines as all cats do. When he started to go outside, he would leave at 6:30 am and be back by 8:30 am on the dot; he’d hop right up on the bed and lie on my chest for the next 3 hours. He was my personal lifeguard; if I was in the bath, he was there, sitting behind me or on the floor next to me; he always had to be close.
We moved out in January of 2022 and moved in with a friend. She had a cat, so we worked to make sure both boys were familiar with one another. The morning of the move, I had nothing but a mattress on the floor ready to be dropped at my parents’. This guy walks in with a mouth FULL of feathers… while I'm attempting to work out where the head is, he spits it out and taps it with his paw. Feathers, everywhere! I’m still convinced that there was a half-bald pigeon flying around somewhere that day. On two occasions, he brought us mice, one of which we had to literally pry from his mouth!
He also had the weirdest sleeping position; it did make me giggle. Back legs completely flat behind him. I remember looking up one afternoon and just seeing some legs at my door, knowing how he would be lying.
Wednesday 30th March 2022… A normal evening: me watching some TV and Monts Sparko on the bed; he was actually snoring. When I look back now, I’m glad I filmed the snore, the cuddle and the hand-hold.
Thursday 31st March 2022… Monty woke up at 6:30 for his usual morning jaunt. I was getting ready for work until I happened to look at my phone; I saw a missed call from the local vet, which I thought was strange. I called them back and explained the missed call. After a few moments on hold, she said a cat had been brought in and asked if I had a cat that was white and tabby. In that moment, I can’t remember what I thought; I said yes, then asked if he was okay.
‘No, I’m really sorry, but he’s died’
I screamed and said I was on my way.
I called my flatmate and my mum and screamed, Monty’s died.
My flatmate just said, ‘I’m on my way’. She worked about 5 minutes away, and within 5 minutes she was with me, in my car.
We arrived at the vet and were taken into a room; each sat on a chair. 5 minutes later, they brought him in covered in a purple blanket. My friend caught sight of him first and burst into tears. I cuddled him, I kissed him, I told him I loved him, and I also said, ‘you silly boy,’ through a tonne of tears. That day… was awful. The worst day of my life so far.
Monty was 8 months old; I had him for 6 of those 8 months, 193 days. This couldn’t be.
The lady who found him left her details with the vet so I could contact her if I wanted. I wanted to know what happened, so I had to.
She said she was driving to work and saw a white bundle at the side of the road; she stopped and found it to be my Monty, she wrapped him in a blanket and took him to the closest vet. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him there. She told me she talked to him the whole way there. Something I am so grateful for now. I couldn’t thank her enough for caring and looking after my baby.
The person who hit him. Left him. Like he was nothing, like he was unimportant. But he was my world. I could just about cope with him being gone, but leaving him? That I couldn’t. I will never know if the driver stopping and taking him to the vet would have saved him. But I would have felt slightly better.
I went back the following evening to see Monty. I took his favourite blanket, his favourite toy, a scarf of mine so he had a piece of me with him and a photo of his paw holding my hand, so he had a hand to hold for his journey.
For the final time, I went back to see him on the Sunday, the day before they were due to take him for cremation. I felt that I needed to see him as he was before I couldn’t anymore. I’ll never regret doing that; I told him we would be back together before he knew it, just in a different way.
Monty wasn’t just my cat.
He was my boy, my best friend and my cuddly companion.
Monty, you are always loved and forever missed. So very very much.
(Photo from Monty's Blog)
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