GOODBYE, OLD FRIEND

IT’S A JOB NO-ONE WANTS TO DO, but it fell to me. But more about that later. Ash came to us as a hideaway cat. I say hideaway as he would hide for months in our ancient dusty garage, sleeping in the kids’ old baby bassinet that was packed away on a top corner shelf. Each time I went into the garage his head would pop up and he would meow, climb down and circle my legs, demanding a scratch around his ears and neck and on top of his head. He looked like a wellloved and well cared for cat.

We put flyers around the neighbourhood to find his owner. Then finally one day we got a call from a woman to say she thought we had her cat. We drove Ash to his real home in a nearby suburb. He actually lived in the most beautiful home, a three-storeyed palatial mansion with an amazing garden and trees. Over the next few months, the same thing would happen. Up would pop his head from the baby’s bassinet in the garage and he would start to meow. Then the following days we would return him, or we would call his owner and say, “He’s here, do you want to come and get him?”

Turns out, Ash wasn’t the only cat living at the nearby palace. His mother also lived in the house and treated him terribly. Apparently even cats have mother issues!

To get to our house, he had to cross at least four main roads and walk some distance. Over time, the same thing kept happening till Ash’s owner said he obviously wanted to be at our place – would we look at keeping him? And so that’s how Ash came to us. He choose us.

He was a beautiful-looking cat, a Chartreux breed, soft grey with a long and strong body with golden eyes. He loved being tickled around his ears, neck and head, and would often communicate quite loudly when he was bored, lonely or wanting to be fed. The only drawback for Ash is we had a dog, Pippi Kathleen who ruled the roost. A Jack Russell with an attitude to match, she would stop cars in the street and demand they drove around her. She would wander into neighbours’ houses or to the park at the end of the street and see what morsel of food she could gain.

So when Ash joined our household, things changed for Pippi. She was outraged that a cat of all things was now part of the family, and would bark at Ash if he dared come into the house. All hell broke out if we picked him up for a cuddle in front of Pippi.

Very quickly, the lines were drawn. Pippi was the inside pet and muchloved dog, Ash was the outside pet, and over time much loved, but a real hunter-gatherer. They seemed to have some unspoken rule. As soon as Pippi finished eating her dinner, she would race to Ash’s bowl and eat his. He would be quite happy to let her get away with finishing off his bowl of food every night. When Pippi choose to stretch out in the sun outside and have a nap, Ash would move further out into the garden and have his nap.

When Pippi died, Ash seemed a bit lost without his bossy pal. Eventually he started coming inside the house and taking over the warmest parts of the house – often on our son, Henry’s bed. He loved the company and would stretch out, wanting to be patted and snuggling in for a cuddle.

One of his greatest achievements was working the backyard and neighbourhood at night. Ash would catch neighbourhood rats and leave only a tail and what looked like a kidney or some other very small organ as a proud trophy on the back verandah. How he devoured an entire rat we are still not sure, but any poor dopey bird or slow rat didn’t stand a chance if they came into our backyard.

As time moved on, Ash got slower and eventually became blind ... his hunting days were well and truly over. It was sad to see him bump into furniture and the area he moved in was very small, going from sleeping to eating and repeating the cycle. The vet said he had dementia and arthritis in his legs. Yet he still loved a scratch around his head, lying stretched out in the sun, and he would still respond to our voices or the sound of the back door opening.

The decision to put poor old Ash down as his quality of life had diminished had been talked about, and now the day had arrived. The task no-one wanted fell to me. Driving to the vet, I talked away to him as he meowed. When we got there, the vet and nurse explained the process and what was about to happen. After they placed a line into his leg, the vet looked at Ash’s records and said he was 20, a very old age for a cat, around 96 in human years. I scratched his head and neck for the very last time as he lay on the vet’s table, talking to him as his life ended. He has been a very loyal pet.

Walking out of the vet in tears, it was sunset. The most brilliant full moon waited for me and at the same time at the end of the street a bright coloured sunset sky glowed in orange and red. Both parts of the day coming together, one to say goodbye, the other rising for another adventure. Goodbye Ash, thanks for choosing us, it’s been quite a ride.

“He was a beautifullooking cat, a Chartreux breed, soft grey with a long and strong body with golden eyes.”