Musing over an old cat

Lulu has been with us since shortly after the Sydney Olympics, or getting into the 20^th year now, after our previous cat acted like a dog with a passing car winning the joust. Vale Joshua. After a short bereavement period, a new kitten was welcomed to our household; enter Lulu putting us under new management. Presently she’s stone deaf, shits all over the place, whines and carries on very early in the morning for food and attention, and according to cat experts is about 92 in cat years. She is the senior member of the house.

As a kitten she was unsure of us but frolicked around as cute as ever and we were charmed. Like all cats she was anti-social and would leave the room in disgust whenever a stranger dared entered her domain.  She went outside to do her business, much appreciated, but seldom at night as we had a curfew on her outings into the dark. 

Our big mistake was not getting her a scratching pad so she took her claws to our furniture at a cost. When we got our 3^rd lounge suite we padded and covered it in an unattractive way to protect it but to little avail. A friend said you can’t have decent furniture and keep a cat in the same place. How true. She wasn’t allowed into our bedrooms but otherwise had a free run elsewhere, and so a lot of space.

When away we first left her in the care of a local cattery that did the job but it was not the best place to be, especially on the nose. Getting her there was an almighty battle as she fled whenever she saw her carry box so we had to resort to ...well animal cunning to get her into the thing sans scratches and almighty wrestles. Cute one minute an alley cat the next.

With all the fires this year we've had to write a fire plan in the event of having to bolt for our lives, and Lulu is a central part of our fire plan, like how do we get her into her carry box, which freaks her out so she runs for it?
Then, how do we keep her in a hot car or an evacuation centre? 

Then we discovered a cattery an hour’s drive away over rough terrain run by great cat lovers, not that Lulu likes it any better, but it was clean and she was well looked after, on one occasion for about 10 weeks. She gave us hell when we got back whining all night in what I called in pet pop speak her separation anxiety. She wants her staff to be around to tend to her needs. In that I serve as her butler, valet, waiter, food bowl cleaner and masseur. At the door when I invite her to go out to play I repeat "go out and have adventures."

Of course she’s fussy, she’s a cat. For a long time she only ate biscuits although we tried to tempt her with other tasty morsels including milk and fresh meat. You’d swear that in a former life she has been poisoned as she was ever wary of trying anything different. She had biscuits in the morning and canned food in the evening, but the canned or pouched food had to be juicy or she disdained to touch it. Often in supermarket aisles, we could be seen strangely shaking tins to determine if they passed the juicy enough test and her strict standards. She’s forever fussy and rules our lives. A point of contention between us is the amount of single-use plastic food sachets we indulge her with. That's hard when you are trying to reduce your carbon footprint. I swear that she'd rather die than eat anything that didn't suit her taste.

She's a nocturnal beast but these days she sleeps most of the day and night. We bought fancy and expensive cushions to no avail but a very soft blanket making a perch on one of our lounges became her favourite place unless you vacated your spot for a moment and she jumped in and stole it. With summer heat she often likes to just stretch out on the carpet which can be a problem when our blind daughter-in-law visits and needs to be warned of her presence.

When she arrived I named her Lulu which was accepted by the family: our 2 kids lived at home then. But I have a habit of going through several nicknames the most current have been shitforbrains and Lulu dickheadsie, or Lionel said in a deep Aussie voice, and said with affection of course. Little Shit is now coming into vogue as she in her advancing years spews or craps in our living area requiring shit patrols to find the latest offerings. Then there’s the litter tray where she kicks up and craps. She never needed such until recent years and they don’t seem to be doing any good now. She’s become like a child these days.

In the beginning Helen regarded Lulu as her cat but left the feeding and cleaning to us. On visits she fusses over Lulu but still leaves the feeding and cleaning to us. Some habits are hard to break.

What is it about retirement and cats? In recent years Cathy has started clucking all over Lulu and invites her onto her lap when watching winter evening TV. The problem is that when she wakes up Lulu can be hard to dislodge.  I don’t know if it’s seasonal but she doesn’t linger lately over Cathy’s lap but retreats to her soft woollen blanket or a stretch on the floor. Nevertheless every morning Lulu gets a chat and a pat, or much more than how's it going Lulu.

As we all know cats don’t like to be touched in many parts of their bodies but like to be massaged around their jaws and the top of their heads. At least Lulu loves her head massages and comes to life when I beckon her over and rub my knuckles against her jaws. The least sign and she leaps to get beside me for her massage. With Cathy, she follows her around for food and, unlike yesteryear wants to eat 12 times a day, and forget about those biscuits she used to survive on.

Ironically I long yearned for a dog but was overruled on that call. Nevertheless, Lulu has kept me company over the years including when I worked from home. Just me, my computer and the cat. She 92+ but is as cute as and not showing her age a bit.