In early January 1984 we were adopted by a black, part Siamese, kitten that appeared out of nowhere and made it quite clear that he wanted to be with us. We named him "ROETJE" (pronounced "Rootshuh", Dutch for "Sootie")

A few days later we went to the RSPCA to find a playmate for him, and so "DROPPIE" (Dutch for "liquorice") came into our lives. They were both approximately 3 months old at that time.

The two were inseparable right from the start, and when we lost Roetje to a speeding car (he was very adventurous) almost a year later, Droppie missed him a lot, and sometimes we think he continued to miss Roetje all his life. He never really accepted another cat in his life, although he tolerated several, all of whom he outlived.

Droppie was a rather shy and very gentle cat, who spent as much time as possible outside in the garden and around the pool. The few times it was his awful fate to spend some time in a cattery, he adjusted very quickly and immediately stole everybody's heart. Once home again though, he would join us on the bed at night and purr as if he was riding a little Harley-Davidson!!

If Droppie had been 2.5 times his actual size, my wife would have liked to have him accompany her on formal occasions: he would have been the perfect gentleman in evening clothes.

At home, he'd disappear into the garden as soon as visitors showed up, and only rarely would he reappear while someone was still there, unless they stayed well past dinner time, when he sometimes would venture into sight to remind us that we were ignoring his vital needs; his built-in timer was extremely accurate!

In his early years Droppie was very territorial: he would not roam, but intruding strange cats were battled again and again, sometimes resulting in expensive surgery. In his later years, although he remained quite a big, strong cat, he decided to avoid such confrontations as much as possible. We expected him to last forever.

His last battle, with CRF, and a large number of additional complications, was utterly unfair. A whole year he went OK, with only drinking a bit more, but shortly after Christmas 1996 he went downhill extremely fast. The odds against him were overwhelming, and he did not really have any decent chance at all.

His suffering ended in the early evening of 14 February 1997, a date we are unlikely to ever forget.

We will always remember him for his gentleness, for his unlimited trust in us, and for the unconditional love he gave us for just over 13 years.