In memory of

Someone once gave me a small, smooth stone with an inspirational word carved on it and it sat under a large red callistemon bush in our garden in Sydney for years. In fact it may still be there. It sounds silly now, but I liked the permanency of it, the thought that someone might one day dig up that stone and wonder about it. So after our old cat Lilly died a few weeks ago, I ordered a carved river stone from Talking Stones to place where she was buried, and another to remember Patsy, the beautiful tabby we brought with us to Tasmania but who got out and disappeared six months later. This morning we placed them down and shed a few more tears.

RIP Lilly cat

Dear old Lil reached the grand age of 20 years and six months. She had one of the oldest cat microchips in the country. Today we said goodbye to her, the last of the two cats we brought with us to Tasmania almost seven years ago.

Lilly had been very frail with poor eyesight and hearing for a few years and we were kind of amazed she kept going as long as she did. She needed combing every day and her eyes wiped regularly as she was not grooming herself properly. We even gave her a bath a couple of times. But still I felt it was not time to put her down. She was not sick. Over summer she was happy basking in the sun for hours. She was still eating well, drinking and using the litter tray - until this week.

Things went downhill on the weekend and on Monday we made the appointment to go to the vet with her on Wednesday. In some ways I wanted to take her sooner. By Tuesday there wasn't much of her left - so frail, no spirit left in her at all. A far cry from years ago in Sydney when she weighed 8+ kilos from stealing and begging food from the neighbours! She was such a funny cat in her day. She had this weird habit of hugging walls, then leaping up the wall and pushing off to get our attention.

I am sad but I am happy that we got in some long cuddles at the end and she purred and (I hope) knew she was loved. RIP Lil.

The cat who got the cream

Happy 20th birthday to Lilly the cat! Yes, you read that right. Twenty years old. Happy birthday, Lil.

This morning she enjoyed a special birthday treat of whipped cream. It sure seems a long time since we adopted her from the vet in Sydney as a scrawny tortoiseshell-and-white kitten with a few gut problems. Then she developed gut problems of a different kind, stealing food from all our neighbours and ending up at 8-plus kilos with a large swinging tummy. We had to do a letter box drop with her photo on saying "Do Not Feed This Cat".

Now, our poor old girl is very frail but she's still eating and drinking well. She needs regular combing and claw trimming but otherwise has simple requirements. Earlier this week, I spotted her trundling out from her home in the garage and across the driveway where she sat in the sun for a while. It mightn't be much, but it's not her time to go quite yet.

The heartache of animal ownership

Our beautiful dog Baerli turned nine on Friday. The downside to owning a large breed is that their lifespan is short. In the case of Bernese Mountain Dogs, 8-12 years is considered good. And poor B has been in the wars lately. She's torn her cruicate ligament in one leg. There's a nasty tumour (thankfully benign) in her mouth. Then she hurt one of her front legs too and was hobbling very badly. On Friday night she wouldn't eat her dinner (for the first time ever), nor breakfast on Saturday morning. Happily she's eating again now. Then on Sunday after a very short walk and swim she was finding it so difficult to get up that she peed on her bed and dripped all the way to the door rather than go outside to the toilet. Yesterday I spotted that her urine was very dark brown. Straight to the vet. A raft of tests ruled some things out thankfully, but we don't know what's wrong yet. It's so hard to see her miserable. We only want to do the best for this lovely old lady.

Then last week while I was away for work, five-year-old Gretchen hurt one of her legs too and was limping. The way she hurtles across the paddock after the frisbee, it's no great surprise, but it's hard to keep her quiet to allow it to heal. She's so desperate to play.

Meanwhile, every time I look at our frail 19+ year old cat Lilly, I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. She's eating, drinking and sleeping fine, but can't groom herself properly, or hear, or see much either. Is she in too much pain? When is too much? I just don't know.

One of the hens has had mites on one leg, which I've been dunking in oil and rubbing gently to (hopefully) help remove them. Yesterday she disappeared. Another hen has some kind of wound on her breast but seems otherwise fine... I don't know what to do.

I wouldn't part with them for the world, but they sure can be a worry. There's so much more than cute and fluffy when caring for our animal family. Every now and then we consider getting some goats or sheep, but I don't think I'm ready for livestock. Especially not after reading a series of Facebook posts by a friend about the birth of calves (to some very obstreperous cows) at their place last month. Now THAT sounded stressful.

Happy 17th birthday Lilly

Lilly the cat turns 17 today! She's still feisty enough to spank Gretchen through the fence occasionally with a lightning fast paw, and still has a very good appetite too. She has a while to go to surpass the record set by my childhood cat Soxy though, who reached 19 years old in the care of my mum. Happy birthday, Lil.

A spring in her step

Spring has even warmed the bones of our elderly cat Lilly, who has emerged from her cosy heated bed where she spent much of winter and has taken to following me down the driveway to the chook shed and around the paddocks. It's lovely to see her basking in the sunshine again.

Toasty cat

About six months after we moved to Tasmania, our elderly cat Lilly decided she didn't want to use the litter tray anymore. Instead, she would leave small nuggets on the bath mat or in the walk-in wardrobe, and she sprayed on my favourite leather handbag and wallet. As many cat owners would know, cat pee is one smell that is almost impossible to eradicate from porous material. So poor Lilly had to be relocated to the large shed and garage, where she has lived quite happily ever since.

However it does get bitterly cold up there in winter. It's only just Autumn and last week it went from being 26 degrees on Monday and Tuesday to only one degree and snowing on Friday. So to keep Lilly warm (and let's be honest, to reduce my own terrible feelings of guilt) I ordered her a heated sheepskin and velour pet bed. She has hardly been out of it since.

It must be spring...

The grass is growing at a remarkable pace.

Lilly the cat moves between the sunshine and the shade.

 

Plants are putting on a growth spurt, including these young beetroot.

Frosty pawprints

David thinks I'm a bit obsessed about taking photos of footprints... wallaby tracks in the snow, Bernese Mountain Dog paws, Tassie devil tracks in the mud, my own footprints... okay he has a point. When our elderly cat Lilly ventured out on one of the very frosty mornings last week, David took this picture for me. Cute!

A casualty to our move

Six weeks ago my dear, soft, slightly senile 15 year old cat Patsy ran away into the bush next to our house and has not returned. As she was old, timid and fragile, and the weather in the weeks following was cold and often wet, and the Tasmanian bush hostile and full of other creatures like possums and snakes, I don't hold out much hope for her survival. For four weeks, I called for her every day, and shed a little tear when she did not return. When it was windy, cold and wet at I night I couldn't sleep, knowing my poor little cat was out there, frightened and hungry. But now, six weeks after her disappearance, I think I have to accept that she's gone.

A couple of times when she was younger and we lived in Sydney, she disappeared for two weeks only to turn up unexpectedly, a little thinner but otherwise fine. Miracles always happen, I guess, but I doubt she's still out there now. Please don't ask me to talk about it as I can't do any more crying. Goodbye, my little Patsy.

Cat on a cold tin roof

We brought our two old cats with us to Tasmania, Patsy (14 years old) and Lilly (13). While they were mostly outdoor cats in Sydney, we've decided to keep them indoors here, for various reasons. However, they do have access to our upstairs balcony when the door is open, and Lilly has taken to climbing over the balustrade and sitting on the colourbond roof in the sun... then walking all the way around the balustrade to the roof on the other side. Here she is in action.