Woosy was my first cat, and my first proper pet- not counting the three goldfish Goldie, Alan and Popeye (RIP) that one by one managed to jump out of the fishbowl. I managed to dig out a few old-school film photos of her- here she's sitting on my first piano.
We adopted her as an almost fully-grown kitten when we found her in the garden- I was five years old at the time. Or rather, she adopted us- we fed the scrawny little thing and she kept coming back, seemingly deciding that we were 'the chosen ones', until eventually she because part of the family. She was with us for sixteen happy years, until she very suddenly fell very ill. I was at university when my mum and dad phoned me to tell me that Woosy had to be put to sleep because of a large inoperable growth in her stomach. They had buried her in the garden. I cried all day.
Dad took it the hardest, I think- Woosy adored him, and he adored her. Thankfully our other cat Fudge (adopted as a kitten soon after we got used to Woosy) was still around for cuddles, although she moped quite a lot for a while after- according to Mum and Dad, she would walk around the house sniffing behind sofas, in corners and cubbyholes, as if searching for her lost friend.
A few years later we adopted Sheba, a cat who lived at the warehouse Dad worked at and was either destined for life as a working cat on a farm, or to be put down, after Health and Safety officials found out about her- and so the household returned to having two cats roaming around and keeping each other company. I still say hi to Woosy when I'm watering the plants in the garden, sometimes.
Some time last week, when Dad went to work and Mum had gone to bed, I was up late doing some work. I got up, taking care not to disturb Sheba (who was asleep in the chair next to me), and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I felt Fudge brush up playfully against my leg.
"Hello, Fudgey," I said automatically.
I heard Fudge chirp back in greeting, but the sound didn't come from by my feet. I looked down to see nothing but bare floor, and looked up to the source of the friendly sound: Fudge was sitting on the warm radiator, on the other side of the kitchen. Very suddenly, my first and very much-loved cat popped into my head.
"...Woosy?" I asked tentatively. I looked around and looked back at Fudge, who had started to purr quietly. Fudge was gazing at the space next to my leg.
"Hi, Wooss-Puss," I whispered, using her old nickname, and got on with making my tea.
I'm not sure that I believe in ghosts- I don't rule the possibility out completely, but I maintain a healthy amount of skepticism about the whole subject. I don't even know if that *was* the ghost of my former pet letting me know she's still around- the nerves in my leg might have just played a trick on me, and Fudge's reaction may have just be cooincidence- and the strong feeling of Woosy's presence rather than fear merely a very human grasp at hope. Whatever it was, it's nice to think that old Wooss-Puss is still kicking around in her own personal dimension, making sure no other ghost kitties invade the territory that she once called home.
RIP little friend, we all still miss you.
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