Kaspar: Prince of Cats. Michael Morpurgo

      It was obvious to me that Kaspar sensed her presence too. He was not himself at all. He was nervous, restless, anxious. He didn’t purr anymore. He’d stopped washing himself, and so far as I could see, he hardly slept. He’d spend hours searching the rooms for the Countess, yowling piteously. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t drink. He was clearly pining for her. I decided that maybe if I took him out more often, for walks in the park, it might help him. He drank from the puddles then, which was something.

      I tried to reassure him all I could. I told him over and over that everything would be all right. Sitting there on our bench one day I promised him faithfully that I’d look after him. But I could see he wasn’t listening. More and more he just didn’t seem to care. More and more he just didn’t seem to want to go on living. I tried feeding him by hand, but he would only sniff at it and turn away. I tried calves liver from the kitchen. I tried best beef, finely chopped. Nothing worked. Kaspar was losing weight all the time, losing his sleekness. His coat was beginning to stare. He was already the ghost of his former self. There seemed to be nothing I could do to halt his decline. I knew if he went on like this, it could only end one way. Now I would lie awake at night, not grieving for the Countess any more, but trying desperately to think of some way of saving Kaspar’s life.