Bím ag scriobh seo inniu, 2ú Marta. Chaith muid ag fáil ár piscín, Harry, ag codhladh. Tá leoicéime aige.
Bhí sé ina stríoc bán ar a driomh dubh. Bhí sé cosúil le scúnc. D'iarr muid air "scúncín."
Bhí sé an-chíuín. Mar sin féin, "purred" sé. Ar maidin, tháinig Harry chun suí agamsa.
"Purred" sé is airde. Bhí Léna ábalta chloisteáil dó ar fud an tseomra. Is é mo chuimhne air.
Bhí sé féin agus a dheartháir Jerry ach ceithre mhí d'aois. Tá brón orainn anseo. Deanfaimid chailleain Harry.
Goodbye to Harry.
I am writing this today, March 2nd. We has to put our kitten, Harry, to sleep. He had leukemia.
He had a white stripe on his black back. It was like a skunk. We called him "little skunk."
He was very quiet. Nevertheless, he purred. This morning, Harry came to sit with me.
He purred very loud. Layne was able to hear him across the room. It is my memory of him.
He himself and his brother Jerry were but four months old. We are sorry here. We will miss Harry.