So on the 1st July, the cat above is 11 years old.
While she can drive the patience of a saint with her demanding ways, I absolutely adore her her madly.
I’d never really had a pet before – unless a goldfish and a cactus counts – and while there were some initial complicated moments, Rosie has given me nothing but utter joy.
I bloody love that cat.
What else would explain me building her a cat penthouse so she can survey her kingdom without having to venture outside [something she’s never done] or buying her a plane seat so she can be with us when we moved to LA.
For a street cat from Singapore, she lives a pretty pampered life.
Not that she thinks that.
Oh no.
I swear if she could talk she would list all the things she believes she’s hard done by.
Not having constant access to Friskies cat treats.
Or not being allowed to go behind the Televisions.
Or not getting brushed 24/7.
And yet – ironically – for all her desire for even more pampering, I swear that she thinks of herself as this …
… because when birds – or another cat – comes into her vision, she reacts like Russia has just invaded another nations airspace, but if she was actually allowed to go and ‘defend’ her land, she’d be utterly rubbish, because underneath it all, she is 100% this.
And I love her even more for that.
Even though it took her 3 years before she sat on our knee.
So to my beloved Rosie, happy birthday you beautiful but cranky purr monster.