A few weeks ago I introduced Larry and Calle, two ginger young fellows from Cyprus that had moved in with us. The sad news today is that Calle is gone. Only Larry remains.
Calle had an accident. The whole thing happened in seconds: always curious, he managed to sneak out on the balcony, eagerly jumped onto the railing, lost his foothold and fell three floors to the ground.
He survived, but was badly injured: both upper canines broken, a collapsed lung, a fractured leg, and a shattered paw that would have had to be amputated.
So after consulting with the vets and a while of tearful deliberation we decided it was best to let them put him out of his misery.
Calle was barely 16 months old, still very nosy and playful. Larry is confused and sits looking around the living room as if expecting his chum to come scooting out of hiding at any moment.
The household is depressed. The grim irony is that while the balcony was always off limits to the cats, we had just ordered a set of glass panels to accommodate them.