This is a cat who used to live with me. He arrived in a cardboard box with his sister when they were very tiny. I’m still not sure why my then boyfriend, J, thought it would be a good idea to bring two kittens into a household that already had a cat. I think he got to see a lot of kittens when he went on his rounds and finally caved in to the suggestions that he take some home.
Original Cat was named Milly. I wanted to call the two new cats Max and Mouse after a song – Maximillian Mouseby Rolf Harris. That was vetoed by J, so Max was renamed Midget. To be fair, she was a very small kitten.
For a while we had three felines in the house. Milly was not particularly happy with the newcomers. She was used to being the only cat in the house and resented the two interlopers. Then one day there were two more – Midget had kittens.
So for a while we had five felines in the house. It was a bit of a juggling act – trying to keep Milly from the kittens, trying to keep Mouse away from the kittens, trying to keep Midget and the kittens in the house. Around this time Milly disappeared. I was devastated. She’d moved houses with me several times. I was terrified that she’d been hit by a car on the busy main road. Actually, no. It turns out that she’d moved in with someone just up the street. The woman’s cat had died and she was overjoyed to find another one so soon.
So for a while we had four felines in the house. Then Midget finally managed to break out of the house and take her kittens to the garage next door. Those neighbours were thrilled. When they moved, they took her, and the kittens.
So then there was Mouse. J had a dream about a fancy function where he was trying to meet important people but they were always pointing behind him saying “Ooh, who’s THAT?” He felt obliged to introduce the cat. “This is Housemousepixiewixie.” It went on. “This is Housemousepixiewixie.” And on. “This is Housemousepixiewixie.” And on. “This is Housemousepixiewixie.” And Mouse was renamed.
Housemousepixiewixie was a tricksy cat. He’d plead for breakfast when J got up, then plead again when I got up an hour later. He’d do the same in the evening. Eventually we clocked that he was probably being fed six or seven times a day, instead of the three or four recommended. We set up a checklist system so as not to be outwitted. Housemousepixiewixie stayed with me when J took contracts to work in Vanuatu, then Australia, then moved out of my life.
So for a while it was just me and Housemousepixiewixie. He did all the usual cat things. Came to say hello when I got home from work. Followed me around the house. Sat on the book I was trying to read. Crept onto my lap paw by paw when I didn’t want him there. Slept on the bed. Threw up on the kitchen floor. Etc, etc. When I moved to Wellington I knew that I wouldn’t be able to take him. Luckily for me a very kind friend offered to take him. One weekend I packed up all of his things and handed him over. In a car park of all places.
Every so often over the past three years I’ve had updates on his behaviour.
- ‘He left half a rabbit in the kitchen and hubby stepped on it.’
- ‘He walks down to the mailbox with me.’
- ‘He is sleeping with one paw on my book. (Claws in.)’
- ‘He has lost 5kg and the vet is pleased.’
Then yesterday I got a txt to say that he had diabetes, there was nothing to be done, he was at the vet’s, he would be buried in a favourite spot in the garden.
I thought I’d cried all my tears, but apparently not.
See ya, Housemousepixiewixie. You were a pretty cool cat.