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MURRAY CHALMERS: Simone’s survival was my reason for getting out of bed – now her rose reminds me to keep going

Murray planted a rose in memory of his cat Simone.
Murray planted a rose in memory of his cat Simone.

In the depths of a bleak Scottish winter, we planted a rose named Simone.

It was last November, five months after my beloved cat of that name had died of cancer.

Hers was a slow death, the huge shaved patch on her flesh a daily reminder that something was spreading inside her that would one day take her away from me.

Her bald patch often made me cry, especially when I saw her automatically avoid it while proudly grooming herself.

Hair simply refused to grow there, a visual reminder that her life-force was waning by the day.

Back then, the world seemed to be closing down around us, the pandemic isolating our beleaguered island.

We became a land of locked doors, our daily routines swamped in bewilderment, suspicion, and fear.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone.

I do remember drinking a lot and wishing I still took drugs.

Simone’s survival often became my reason for getting up in the morning.

Simone made sure Murray knew who was the boss.

Each time I opened my eyes I’d see her at the bottom of the bed, willing me to get up and feed her.

Her very existence made my own sense of self-preservation strengthen.

Time passing in the span of a pet’s life

If you’re not an animal lover you might not get this. But the connection we feel with our furry friends is profound, and it’s forever.

I’ve loved all my pets. But I suddenly felt I’d never loved a creature as much as I loved my beautiful Simone.

You see, we had history.

She’d seen me through the end of an unhealthy 10-year relationship, a subsequent explosive love affair that almost broke me, and now a global pandemic that highlighted the true extent of my isolation in a country I’d recently returned to after 40 years away.

Murray and Simone.

Cast adrift from friends, family, and protractedly single for the first time in my adult life, last winter felt like an inexorable slide into some kind of void.

I’d ask myself if this is what it would feel like as an old person. With the clock chiming ever slower and the embers of the fire signalling days lived in lost, eternal shadow.

At 62 I suddenly thought I might never see New York again. Which was a completely mad thought considering it sometimes seemed uncertain if any of us would even reach our next birthdays.

I cried a lot and now I know I wasn’t just crying for Simone, or even for myself.

I was crying for time passing.

Roses, for me, are a symbol of positivity, beauty, abundance and resilience… Planting a rose is planting for the future.”

No one would ever be able to claim the last three years have been easy.

I can’t remember a time when I felt more uncertain about the future.

And amid this global turmoil, I couldn’t help but wonder if Simone’s impending death somehow signified the slowing down of my own life, much of which had been lived in the fast lane of sex and drugs and rock n roll.

A rose for remembrance

It’s taken until now, almost a year after she died on August 1, for me to understand that we can live our lives in fear of the inevitable – as if we too are walking around with our own permanently shaved patch – or we can grasp life by the balls and live it as fully and joyfully as we can.

It took planting a rose and seeing it bloom to remind me of this.

Simone: the rose Murray planted in memory of his cat.

Roses, for me, are a symbol of positivity, beauty, abundance and resilience. They signify hope and the bounty of nature in a way no other plant does.

My favourites are from David Austin. And not just because they include varieties named Gertrude Jekyll, The Lady’s Blush, Desdemona, The Poet’s Wife and Gentle Hermione, enticing as they all are.

Planting a rose is planting for the future. And the reward is blooms which will herald summers for many years to come.

That’s why I was delighted to find a rose named Simone at the same time I discovered a wine originating from Chateau Simone in France.

Life goes on: the promise of a rose

Last winter we dug a hole in the bank overlooking the house where Simone grew up and my own house, which became her adopted home after her owner died.

The rose had arrived in a plastic bag, a twig and root plant that looked vulnerable and lost. We didn’t hold much hope that it would flower.

But it has. And spectacularly so.

Simone’s last day was spent looking out over the river, allowing everyone to say goodbye to her.

This was her domain, and her rose now means I walk past her memory every day.

It’s blooming now, just before the anniversary of her death.

On that day I will smell the roses and toast her with Chateau Simone as I watch the sun set. And I’ll remember with hope and gratitude that the sun will always rise again tomorrow, just as Simone’s rose will always flower to celebrate another summer.


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