Tom Tom

Tom Tom put a smile on the face of everyone who met him.

With his own special charm, he was a heartbreaker — a sweet, gentle boy who quietly stole his way into our hearts. His long and difficult journey has now come to an end, and our hearts are broken.

He first appeared at the shelter in the spring of 2024, hanging around for a few weeks: not the healthiest-looking little man, but oh, the sweetness of him. He joined our family that April, and from then on he charmed just about every visitor who crossed his path.

Tom Tom was FIV positive, which made the shelter one of the hardest places for him to be — with an impaired immune system, every passing virus and germ took its toll. He battled a never-ending snuffle, slow weight loss, and later pancreatitis that was desperately hard to manage, even on a special diet he ate willingly. He spent far too much of his life going clinic in, clinic out, cared for by his foster mums and by Theda, who drove him to every appointment.

That was the ache of Tom Tom’s story. With an indoor home, the right food and a little quiet, he could have lived to a grand old age. All we could do was love him, take him to the clinic, feed him the best food we could find, and give him his vitamins — and we did, with everything we had.

In rescue work, we witness the perpetuity of life and slowly learn to accept it. Some days are filled with goodbyes and grief walking side by side with joy and hope. When we lose one of our cats, a small void opens: the spot they liked to sleep in seems empty, the can of food they preferred stays unopened. It may not be the great rupture of losing a person, but it is a quiet farewell — an acceptance, an exhale. And then we open our hearts wider, and let new love in: always different, always special.

Goodbye, Tom Tom. Rest now — you fought so hard, our gorgeous, sweet, sweet boy. 💙