My Cat – Kevin The Bastard

Kevin as you may know, is our ginger cat – the one we adopted a week after Gordon crossed over to Rainbow Bridge because quite simply, we could not be without a cat and our little home was incomplete without one.

For those of you that haven’t read that blog entry of how we said goodbye to Gordon and how Kev came into our lives, the link is here:

https://thepigaloodiaries.com/2017/09/19/the-day-we-walked-with-gordon/

Kevin – now 7.5kgs of floof and attitude
Photograph by Samantha Rose

How has Kevin turned out?

Well he is actually rather magnificent and at the time of writing this, he is 1 year and 9 months old and weighs 7.5kgs. He is a feral bastard – hence the name for his social media accounts, ‘Kevin the bastard’, a title that is more than fitting of his personality.

Kevin attacks my legs, he bites them when he wants attention, he bites them when he is pissed off and he bites them, well just to tell me that he loves me and I now have brown scars all over my legs comparable to a game of noughts and crosses.

Kevin has also turned out to be a bit of a pervert. No, he does not have his testicles as they were removed over a year ago but he still seems to have ‘needs’ and these ‘needs’ involve humping the dogs toys.

He humps the toys while clutching his goldfish fishing wand in his mouth although sometimes he likes to hold the squeaky squirrel but the fish is his favourite ‘sex toy’ which he drags round the house until he finds what he wants to hump. We did try removing all of the dog toys which was not fair on Brutus, but he ended up humping Brutus and of course, Brutus was shocked and disgusted and so am I because this afternoon (8th May 2019), Kevin was rubbing his face on my husbands shoes while trying to hump my foot.

“Mum, can you please get Kevin off my Tony Abbott doll!” Brutus protested once while Kev went at one of the Tony dolls like a champ. “That is disgusting!” Brutus added. I gently reminded him that it wasn’t that long ago that he (Brutus) used to try and hump my arm when he got overexcited while holding a Tony in his mouth.

Tony is Kevin’s favourite toy to ‘love’
Photograph by Samantha Rose

“But that was different!” Brutus blushed. He was right though, Brutus wasn’t trying to get his ‘jollies’ so to speak but Kevin does (we have to wash the toys once a week now).

The squeaking from the toys grew louder as Kev worked his way round them and he even sorted the gingerbread man out. “You are just jealous!” Kev sneered at Brutus. Brutus turned away because he couldn’t think of a suitable reply.

Kevin has sexy time with Brutus’s favourite toy
Photograph by Samantha Rose

This went on for quite a while but actually it is a daily event and we just try and ignore him. Well I say ignore him but I shall admit to taking several videos as Kev now has his own Insta account and I post the videos and photos on there and Kev is getting quite a following. Here is the link if you are interested – http://@Kevinthebastard

You can also catch up with Kevin on his Facebook account – https://www.facebook.com/TheDailyKevin/

Kevin the naughty boy!

“Mum?” Kev asked me the other week.

“Yes Kev?” I replied.

Kev admired his nails and said sweetly, “Do you like your legs?”

Stupid me didn’t even realise what was about to happen, so I pretty much deserved it really, “Yes Kevin, I like my legs, why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Kev grinned and took a swipe adding to the already growing collection of scars that make me look as though I have been hurting myself on a regular basis.

Another time he got turd caught up in his pantaloons – and for those not in the know, pantaloons are the back end of a long haired cat. If you check out their floofy legs, they actually look like baggy pantaloons – have a look for yourself if you don’t believe me.

Pantaloons!
Photograph by Samantha Rose

It was no mean feat to clean those shitty ginger trousers and I had to wrestle 7.5kgs of angry semi feral cat who was insulting me and threatening to eat myself and my family in the night and even when I told him that my family live in the UK, he still threatened to eat them.

Kevin is so difficult to handle that he has been prescribed a sedative from the vet to enable me to bring him to the vets or if I need to trim his nails, so please don’t be fooled by the cuteness of the floof because he really is a bastard and lives up to his name.

Dear Lord, make me a good boy!
Photograph by Samantha Rose

Kev is a highly strung, nervous semi feral cat who gets upset if his routine is even slightly out of sync. If we are late putting him to bed (yes he has his very own bedroom), he starts to knock things off the TV cabinet – mainly the modem but will graduate to whatever else may be on there or the coffee table.

One time we had pest control come to do a termite inspection and we had to shut Kevin away. After the guy had gone and my husband went to let Kevin out, Kevin panicked and scratched the crap out of my husband. He did say sorry afterwards and begged for forgiveness, but that was only because prawns were involved.

My House – My Castle!

Kevin is highly territorial and doesn’t welcome other animals into his house, especially cats and he even gets upset if he can see them outside the house through the dining room window. We had a bit of an incident one Sunday with the tuxedo cat from down the road calling round to see us. He often knocks on our front door and asks to come in for a chat – you know me, I would happily chat to him but Kevin said that hell will freeze over before that happens.

This cat is quite cute and I sometimes see him on my way to work sitting outside his garden doing cat stuff. He waves at me and always says ‘Good morning’. Unlike the horrible tabby tom cat complete with testicles that used to piss up my windows and door and call my old cat Gordon a bastard and threaten to shit on my car.

That all ended quite abruptly when I purchased some citronella crystals from the vet to scatter by my door. The last I saw of that tabby cat was him stomping off down the road with testicles and attitude, saying that I had ruined his life.

Anyway, back to Sunday. I was curled up on the sofa watching a movie. Brutus was on his sofa in the dining room and Kevin was being a nosey bastard at the dining room window. Quite suddenly I heard Kevin make a blood curdling screech and his language was pretty ‘choice’ as well, some of it I can’t even repeat.

“Oi! What the hell do you think you are doing? Sitting by my window like it’s yours!” Kevin screamed so loudly that I jumped up off the sofa to see what was going on. I was greeted at the sight of Kevin in full ‘toilet brush’ where his fur had floofed up so much that I could have used him to clean my toilet.

“Let me get that cheeky bastard, I shall kill him with my own paws!” Kev hissed and spat as he attacked the window and flipped the bird at this other cat.

The tuxedo cat outside did not move an inch. He sat there grinning at Kevin while making gestures with his paws and shouting something about ‘no need to be so hostile’ and ‘could he possibly come in and share a bowl of meat or something?’

This of course ended with Kevin getting so upset that he told the tuxedo cat to piss off, then ran over to poor old Brutus who was on the chair, smacked his bum (Kev didn’t have his nails out at all), then chased Brutus into the living room, swiped my legs (nails still not out thank god) and chased me around the house.

Tuxedo cat shook his head and merely walked off down the garden while doing a telephone gesture at Kevin saying ‘Call me’. Kevin who was in more states than Australia, went to his litter tray to take a piss and angrily kicked his litter everywhere to prove a point.

“Well I don’t know what that was all about but I am the goodest boy ever!” Brutus mumbled, still alarmed at why his bum was swatted with Kevin’s huge paws when he was indeed ‘the goodest boy ever’ and rarely if ever did anything wrong.

“Two words” I said to Brutus, “Tuxedo Cat”.

Brutus sighed and muttered something about never understanding cats and especially never understanding Kevin.

I will admit to that tuxedo cat being a bit odd though, he reminds me of something out of a horror movie where these mysterious cats keep appearing just before something happens. He keeps coming to my door despite Kevin threatening to take him out and shit down his neck and each morning I see him sitting outside his house waving to me in the car. I reckon he has another tuxedo friend or brother because at the end of my road, there is another identical cat who also sits outside his house and stares like he is judging my life choices.

It’s almost as though there is a secret tuxedo society that watch my every move and speak in their own language and it is their sole aim to antagonise Kevin and taunt him to watch him lose his temper. Or perhaps I am being paranoid – who knows, not me that’s for sure and don’t ask Kevin, he still hasn’t recovered from the other night.

So What Makes Kevin So Special?

Kevin is feral, aggressive, hard to handle – impossible for the vet to do anything with unless sedated. I think in the wrong hands, Kevin would end up back in rescue. He only just tolerates children – providing they don’t touch him and completely ignore him. If he escaped, there is no way he would be caught. Which is why we are so vigilant with him and actually put him before any visitors that we may have and we would never have children staying with us because we can’t trust kids with him and we certainly can’t trust Kev with kids.

At the time of writing this blog, Kevin bit my hand and latched on, he didn’t draw blood but it really did hurt. He did this because I had shut him out of my office so I could concentrate on my writing and by the time I got out to see him, he was sitting on the kitchen counter looking boot-faced and furious with his pupils dilated in a ‘I am going to kill you’ kind of way. I had upset his routine, his evenings with me and had left him alone in the living room.

With Kevin, we work with what we have, we read his signals or at least try to. We make the most of his good points because when Kevin does allow you to cuddle him, he will ever so slightly relax in your arms and you get the slightest and faintest purr from him and occasionally he dribbles and when you get that kind of affection with him, it’s like you have won the lotto and not just his love for that moment.

He follows me everywhere, to the bath and even to the toilet and it breaks his ginger heart if he can’t find me which makes me feel awful when I have to shut him out of my office because he won’t let me work.

Kevin likes to watch me have a bath or shower
Photograph by Samantha Rose

We can never be complacent with him because he can be quite affectionate one day and almost like a normal cat but if something upsets him then he can be spooked and aggressive the next. One funny little indicator of him being upset is that his little nose puffs up and turns what I call ‘electric pink’, we can always tell when he is upset just by looking at his facial expression and in particular, his nose.

So why did we pick Kevin?

When we first adopted Kevin and brought him home, I recall him smacking his legs to the floor, hissing at me and taking a swipe at my hands. He was 7 weeks old when he did that and we knew that he was not going to be an ordinary easy to handle kitten.

He was ginger, he was feisty, he had no fear and he marched up to my husband like a short man with a purpose. I knew he would fit in with us and I knew that he needed to hold his own because at that time, he would be living with two big dogs.

Not all cats are loving, gentle and easy to own. Some of them are nervous, aggressive and need to be accepted as that way which is exactly what we have done. And when you take on a cat like that, you commit to him/her no matter what but most of all, you need patience and lots of it.

Kevin is a young adult cat now, he humps toys, he steals things, he bites, he gives the occasional magical head boop which is often followed by a bite on the nose and he knows exactly what he likes and doesn’t like in his life and relies on us to look after him and protect him.

To have that kind of understanding and mutual communication with him, means we need a certain level of trust between us and him. I think we have that now but he is still a work in progress and we can never drop our standards in care for him and let our guard down.

Kevin is a character, we have never owned a cat like him – ever. He makes us laugh, he makes me cry – especially when he bites my legs and I truly mean it when I say that you have to meet him to believe just what a character he actually is.

Why Kevin when we could have had a ‘normal’ cat? Well why not? He belongs with us, we are the ones that know him best and love him the most.

He is a bastard, but he is our bastard and we think he is pretty darned awesome.

Kevin – the bastard in training
Photograph by Samantha Rose

Dedicated to all carers of feisty feral cats in the world – wherever they may be

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright May 2019


Birthdays, Old Age and Pink Salmon

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Gordon reaches the grand age of 15 years old
(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Today is Sunday 9th April – just an ordinary day for Brutus and Rocky, nothing special about it except for plans to take Rocky for a drive to chat to the sheep.

The boys were up at 7.30am ready to go into the garden for the first pee of the day which as any dog will vouch is the best one. Rocky always checks the garden for intruders – invisible or otherwise while Brutus goes to what is now known as ‘The Brutus Tree’ to check to see if any more rats have appeared.

‘Good morning Gordy, how’s it going?’ Brutus grinned at Gordon as he lay curled up on the sofa.

Brutus adores Gordon you see, cleans his ears and his bum and despite Gordon having hardly any teeth, allows the ginger cat to get him in a ‘death-grip’ when he pretends he is an African lion hunting springbok in Namibia.

 

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Brutus and Gordon – brothers from another mother

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

‘Gordon, did you hear me?’ Brutus shouted to his brother. Gordon ignored him and stared boot-faced towards the window and then began to pointedly wash his anus with his hind leg held high in the air.

Looking somewhat hurt and confused, Brutus trotted up to Rocky who was now crossing his legs and muttering something about ‘being desperate for a piss’.

‘Gordon won’t talk to me’ Brutus whispered to the black kelpie.

Rocky shrugged and said something about him getting moody in his old age.

Both boys were let out into the garden and nothing more was said.

‘He looks smaller these days don’t you think, like really skinny?’ Rocky said to Brutus.

Brutus was busy gazing into his tree checking for rats, ‘He is still my big brother and can hunt things in Africa he told me so, I don’t think he is smaller because then he wouldn’t be able to hunt’ Brutus growled without taking his eyes off the tree, ‘Bloody rats – they are hiding from me on purpose’ he added fretfully.

Rocky shrugged his shoulders and trotted back to the patio door to be let back in as it was breakfast time.

As he pressed his snout against the window he spotted the frail cat sitting on the kitchen work surface talking to himself. ‘Everyone is a wanker, I hate everyone, nobody loves me, nobody cares and I am going to puke on the floor’.

Slowly and somewhat unsteadily on his feet, Gordon went to the floor and started making the unmistakable and dramatic sounds of vomiting and trust me, nothing and I mean nothing will make a cat owner sit up and take notice quicker than the violent sounds of a cat throwing up.

He barely puked anything but it was enough to get my attention. Clearing up the tiny bit of sick that I swear he had forced out to be noticed, I petted him and told him how marvellous he was and good on him for sicking up that furball.

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Gordon demands attention by puking

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

‘Yeah right, I don’t believe you love me and I am going to bite you later with my gums and shit in your clean laundry’ Gordon snapped at me and then wobbled off looking like a doddery old man that has lost confidence in his walking stick.

Rocky continued to stare through the window racking his brains to see what could have possible upset Gordon. It didn’t take long to find out either because just ten minutes later my husband came into the kitchen clutching a tin of pink salmon.

‘Happy 15th birthday Gordon’ My husband walked into the kitchen and kissed Gordon on the head and gently lifted him on to the kitchen workbench to have his salmon, which yes I know is unhygienic and all that stuff but I don’t really care.

‘I thought you had forgotten’ Gordon stuttered in his old man voice – a bit like Winston Churchill if you know what I mean.

‘As if we would forget’ I cuddled him – feeling his bones creak.

‘I love you Mum’ Gordon grinned and then promptly bit my hand with his remaining two canine teeth and called me a ‘bitch’.

It was a King that tucked into his salmon this morning, despite having very few teeth he made light work of it and even tolerated me putting on a tie for his birthday photo shoot.

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Gordon – hunting his salmon (in Africa of course!)

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

‘Can I tell my friends that I hunted that salmon in Africa?’ Gordon asked me.

I didn’t dare tell him that he didn’t really have any friends except for Tess and Pippin, but I agreed anyway and it was enough to make him happy. After all, a good imagination and an ability to dream never hurt anyone.

Meanwhile Rocky was outside looking mortified. How on earth did he forget his brothers birthday. Turning round he quickly ran over to where Brutus was to let him know they had some serious making up to do and plenty of arse licking (literally in Brutus’s case).

Rocky car

Rocky is such a thoughtful little dog

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

After breakfast the boys sat hovering by Gordon watching him eat the rest of his salmon.

‘Gordon we are SO sorry we forgot your 15th birthday, we didn’t mean to honestly we didn’t’ Brutus sobbed. He was totally distressed that he had forgotten and couldn’t stop crying as festoons of snot dripped from his nose and his eyes all red and puffy from being so upset.

Rocky was a bit more dignified but not too proud to admit that he was sorry and tried to bring Gordon his fluffy penguin.

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Gordon is well loved by both of his brothers as you can see

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Gordon carried on eating and after a few seconds stared down at the boys. His eyes showing every year of his 15 years, the once 7kg cat did actually look quite frail and tiny.

His grumpy old face softened and he replied to his brothers ‘That’s OK, you have remembered now and that is what matters’.

‘I love you Gordon’ Brutus sighed, wiping his eyes and nose as he had been crying that much – guilt does that to Brutus you see. Brutus feels guilty even when he has done nothing wrong. Rocky dug a 3 foot hole in the garden and Brutus cried for days and apologized for it and even went to the police station to insist he be arrested for a crime that he didn’t commit.

‘I love you right back Brutus’ Gordon replied.

Licking his lips Brutus said hopefully ‘I can help you eat some of that salmon if you like, just as a favour of course’.

‘Bollocks’ Gordon replied, ‘Don’t push your luck’ and with a flick of his tail, Gordon turned round and flashed Brutus his bum.

‘He still loves us then!’ Rocky said sounding ever so relieved.

‘Yeah, I reckon’ Brutus barked happily, ‘And Rocky?’

‘Yes Brutus?’ growled Rocky.

‘He is still our big brother’ Brutus nodded firmly, ‘No matter how small he is’ – and there was no arguing with that.

 

Happy 15th birthday Gordon.

 

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright April 2017

An Open Letter to Gordon – my cat

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Gordon – a face meant for smooching

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Old age, our pets and our attitude

Our pets age, they get old, they slow down and get more demanding – a bit like us really.  One minute they are young and before you know it, time has flown by and at a glance they have become old; leaving us wondering just when it all happened.

I have read so many stories about owners surrendering their pets once they become senior and there are too many photos of grey faced animals with opaque aging eyes staring back at us from pound rescue photographs.

I find it leaves a nasty taste in my mouth when a pet is given up purely and only for being old and then quickly replaced by a younger pet.  What kind of message does this send out and are we really so arrogant to think that old age does not apply to us and we as humans will never get old or demanding?

This blog is dedicated to my senior cat Gordon who is stepping in to his senior years which is also bringing with it a change of personality – he has no boundaries, he is demanding, he is naughty and even chews my hair when I sleep.  Could I surrender him for these reasons and swap him for a younger cat?  Absolutely not, I love him and I love every ginger hair on his head and I love the old cat he has become.

This story details how I see Gordon, his behaviour, his appearance and how it is all too easy to assume that he will always be around.  I have written this to him as an open letter – yes I know he is a cat and can’t read, but if he could then this is what I would tell him.

So treasure your senior pets, treasure every single grey hair on their face – they have earned it and if you have loved them properly then you have earned the right to have them in your lives and for that reason; you should count yourselves very lucky.

Gordon

At 9 weeks you came in to our lives.  I remember we had to choose between you and your twin brother Anthony and we picked you because you were not scared of our dog – a whippet bitch called ‘Rema’.

You marched right up to her and smacked her on the snout and I will never forget the look of horror on her face as you did that.  A tiny little ginger kitten taking on a 12kg whippet that quickly developed respect for you.

You were young, energetic, naughty and ‘full of beans’ as I would describe you. You would shred the carpet, eat our towels, fight with the dog and hang round her neck and swing from the curtains in a small ginger bundle of fury.

Gordon and my whippet ‘Rema’ – best friends

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

At a year old you had the look of a ‘teenage’ cat about you.  You had developed retrieving skills and would play ‘fetch’ with your beanie baby toy panther that you loved to carry around with you and bring to us if we asked you to.

Gradually you grew into a fat cat that seemed to go more orange the more mischief you got in to.  You had developed a habit of stealing things which included boxes of matches, inhalers, jewellery, cotton buds – anything that you could fit in your ginger mouth.  Your ‘spoils’ were hidden in your favourite spots that I soon found and then you would move them somewhere else and it would take me ages to find out where.

At six years old we took you to Australia where you flew by plane and landed in Perth a day before we did where you spent the next 30 days in quarantine.  On release from quarantine you quickly settled in as an Aussie cat and adapted to the heat, the noisy birds and life in general, your life in London was now a million miles away.

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Gordon at Byford Quarantine, WA

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

You spent the next seven years looking fabulous with a glossy coat and having an energetic zest for life.  Being an indoor cat you had no predators and none of the usual risks associated with being an outdoor cat and we marvelled at your health and vitality for a cat of your age.

The parrots taunted you and you argued back in your cat-like ‘chatter’ as you made ‘clicking’ noises with your mouth at the window, no doubt threatening what you would do to them if you ever got out.

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Gordon looking very ‘orange’ – note his eyes starting to look old

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Six months after arriving in Australia, we acquired our first ‘Aussie dog’ – a 4 month old kelpie called ‘Rocky’.  Within the first five minutes of meeting him, you had smacked him smartly on the snout and ‘boxed’ him with your huge padded ginger paws, making him pee himself because he was so scared of you.

The line was once again drawn with you and Rocky knew from that day on to never cross you and became and still is, your biggest protector to this very day.

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Then three years ago we fostered a 12 week old ridgeback/kelpie puppy called Brutus – which was meant to be a three day thing really, except that Brutus ended up staying.

You took to Brutus immediately and let him get away with a remarkable amount of rough-housing until a point was reached where you would get him into one of your ‘death-grips’ and pin him down by his throat (all 30kgs of him).

Brutus has adored you from the very first day he met you and enjoys washing you, cleaning your ears and following you around until he annoys you enough to get a biff on the snout (claws in of course).

A baby Brutus and Gordon and then a grown up Brutus and Gordon

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

At what point did I notice you got old

It kind of crept up on me really (probably like it did to you) but one day I was walking around the house getting various bits and pieces ready for work the next morning.  I happened to glance down to see your frail ginger body trotting after me as you struggled to keep up.

I laughed and thought it cute but on closer inspection you were like an old man trying to keep up with life as your joints hurt you and you stiffly tried to trot after me as I went from room to room to get things.

Your agility and balance has slowly declined over the years and last week you jumped up on to the sofa while I was sitting on it and as I looked round, all I saw was your ginger face appear full of panic as you lost your grip and fell backwards to the floor.

As if you were embarrassed, you sneezed, shook yourself and limped off as if to say ‘That didn’t hurt, I meant that to happen’.

Your stomach has become more sensitive as you have aged and whilst you have always been prone to vomiting – probably due to you grooming the dogs and ingesting their fur, your vomiting has become more frequent and now you can do it without warning whilst managing a somewhat splendid Exorcist style projectile vomit as you hit the blinds and the walls with the contents of your stomach.

Your bones have started to ‘crack’ when you are picked up and despite our attempts to treat you like a piece of fine bone china, the extent of your fragility is apparent.

It doesn’t stop you being naughty though and you still like to bite up and down our arms like you are chewing a corn on the cob, except that now your jaw kind of ‘clacks’ as you bite down, your bite is weak and your stiff legs somewhat feebly bicycle against my arm as you try and kick me.

Knock, Knock – who’s there? Gordon, that’s who!

A habit that you have had since you were a baby was to stand on your hind legs and use your front legs to scratch at the door.  You had the ability to do this for hours on end until we relented and would let you in the bedroom.

These days you still do it but I can barely hear you but I know you are there.  I can hear you meowing and crying and the oh-so-faint sounds of your paws weakly scratching at the door.  I let you in straight away, I always let you in because I don’t like the idea of you wanting to come in so bad that you will still use what energy you have to scratch at that door and I know how much it must hurt your arthritic paws.

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Still in charge – no matter how old you are

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Sometimes you have those mad half hours where you take a shit in your litter tray and then run around the house with a joyous expression on your face as you skid along the floor and bump into doors/windows while the dogs look at you as though you have gone mad.

Talking of dogs, you still have the power over Rocky and Brutus.  You can get Brutus on his back in submission in a matter of seconds as you try and get him in a ‘death grip’ by biting his throat and kicking him with your hind legs.  He could kill you with one bite but no, he has a healthy respect for you and is so protective of you.

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Brutus has your back Gordon

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Everyone needs a hug sometimes…

Every evening when I get home from work I sit on the sofa and relax with a cup of tea, just unwinding as people do.  Like clockwork you always jump on my knee and demand my attention.

In your younger years, you started off subtle and would never sit on my laptop or push drinks out of my hand but as you have aged, your boundaries have long gone and you are more than happy to shove my cup of tea right out of my hand or sit square on top of my laptop and ‘make puddings’ on my chest as you knead my boobs and go off into a trance of delight because you quite simply love your cuddles.

I have learned that resistance is futile and as soon as I see you march across the coffee table, I know that my cup of tea must be quickly finished, my laptop shut down, phone on the table and the blanket gets put on my lap so that you can get comfy.

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Gordon – simply cannot be ignored

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Then as quickly as you demanded to get on there, you decide that you have had enough and walk off with your tail held high in an act of defiance that says ‘I can do what I want’.

‘He won’t be around forever you know and one day you will miss all of this’ My husband warned me one day when I complained that you wouldn’t leave me alone.

I stared at you when he said that and tried to imagine life without you, life without Gordon – the cat that flew from the Motherland to Perth, the cat that had been with us through thick and thin and has seen us through our life stages.

I realised that he was right, that you wouldn’t be around forever and there would come a day that I would be regretting the day I chose my privacy, laptop and cup of Yorkshire tea over the cat that I loved so dearly.

Now when you want a cuddle; you get it and as for me going to the toilet on my own, well that is so overrated and I no longer complain when you want to sit on my knee while I am trying to pee.

You still love your life, you still enjoy your life, you are just slower and older but you still know how to demand what you want, get what you want and you still know how to be naughty.

So when did you get so old my darling Gordon and why did it take me so long to realise that you are not replaceable by a mobile phone, laptop computer or ‘time alone’.

Now I make the most of each time you want a cuddle, I am privileged that you are so desperate to sleep on my lap and I love the fact that you follow me around.  But most of all I am proud, proud that you are my cat and that we bought you with us from London to Perth and I am privileged to be seeing you into your senior years.

You are getting older Gordon and you won’t always be around but while we have you, we promise to look after you, never to let any harm come to you and love you for the rest of the time that you have with us and when the heartbreaking time comes to send you over to Rainbow Bridge, we will walk right beside you to that entrance.

Thank you for being our cat

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The gift of owning a senior pet cannot be underestimated

(Photograph by Sam Rose)

Samantha Rose (C) Copyright January 2016