I’ve talked about our ancient cat, Nutmeg, who passed her 25th birthday this summer.
She’s still mobile, still eats heartily and still detests the new interloper, Tipsy with the passion of the slighted Dowager.
However, her hips are stiffer than they were and, like all cats, she likes being high up to watch the world as it passes below.
Our utility room has been her domain for most of her life ; she enjoys the heat of the boiler and this summer she, alone has spent time baking on the lawn.
For reasons that are beyond explanation she juggles her soft bespoke bed with the washing up bowl as her preferred sleeping venue.
Given the evidence of increasing infirmity we have introduced some changes.
Two chairs provide aid with the floor to work surface transition
And a drawbridge added across the back door to enable a one level transfer between the bed and the sink/food area.
These days she prefers to use a cat litter tray, even though, as above, she is happy to slink through the flap to access the sunshine. Sadly, while she remembers to sit in the litter tray, often that means her feet are on the litter while her arse is hanging over the edge, hence the increasing extent of the newspaper.
I have no idea how much longer she’ll go on. Her eyes can get gummy, her teeth aren’t the best but she still purrs, she still sits next to the Textiliste on a spare chair, hoping to be fed the odd morsel of meat or cheese and she still howls at me first thing demanding breakfast. She is addicted to lickylicks which if you’ve not discovered them are a bone to keep a pet quiet.
Keep going girl…