Welcome back. Did you eat lots of easter eggs?
Let’s be honest, even if you didn’t – as long as you had a long weekend, it was all good. Haha.
So to welcome you back I thought I’d write a wholesome post. No really. Maybe the sweetness of all the chocolate eggs I almost ate, got into my blood stream?
Anyway, a couple of days ago, it was a year since Bonnie came into our lives.
As people who have followed this blog for a while, you’ll know it was quite a big event for us because:
1 We had lost our beloved, very well-travelled, loveable-but-grumpy cat, Rosie the year before.
2 Jill had wanted a dog for as long as we had been together, but we’d resisted as we had moved countries so much and so often.
However, the loss of Rosie had shown just how much we missed having an animal in our house and lives.
Sure, Otis his budgie Sky … who, despite being very small, is louder [and grumpier] than a Brexit voter on twitter … however it wasn’t the same and it got to a point where the silence in the house was amplifying the loss of Rosie.
The thing was, having another cat felt wrong. I know that sounds mad, but it felt – at least to us – that doing that would be almost disrespectful towards Rosie. As if we were saying she could be replaced as quickly and easily as the average Hollywood marriage.
But I must admit I was still cautious about a dog. I’ve always loved them – and Jill, up until she met me, had always had them – but we live in a treehouse and so I felt we needed to give real consideration as to whether we could give it the life it deserved.
But three things – much to Jill and Otis’ delight – tipped me over to ‘yes’.
Firstly, I realized how good a dog would be for Otis.
Not just in having a ‘companion’ but in helping him manage/overcome some of the issues he was dealing with thanks to his dysgraphia.
Second was we found a breeder who specialized in dogs who were especially good at helping kids with issues of anxiety and confidence – not just in terms of parentage, but training.
And finally, was the fact I’d got healthy … so the idea of walking a pooch a lot was a positive rather than a negative.
So, with those 3 positives we took the plunge – which pleased Paula Bloodworth immensely after her 10+ years of lobbying for me to get a dog as she unashamedly prefers them to cats, hahaha – and then waited until the breeder informed us of a litter she felt contained puppies who could be very good for us.
And how right they were …
In a perfect world, we wanted a female dog, with a dark brown coat. And we got her. But more importantly, we wanted a dog who would be loving, gentle and – beyond the odd ‘zoomie’ calm for Otis. And we got that too.
In fact, from the moment she came into our house, Bonnie – named after a bourbon biscuit, as my tattoo celebrates – has been brilliant.
Sure, she ate all the zippers off cushions, has an unnatural love of socks and barks at her own reflection… but apart from those little quirks, she is a kind, loyal, caring dog.
And the impact she has had on Otis has been remarkable.
I won’t go into the details as that’s his story to own, but literally within weeks – the positive impact on Otis was unmistakable.
In many ways, she has changed his life and the trajectory of his life in immeasurable ways and I don’t say that with any sense of hyperbole whatsoever.
So Bonnie, thank you.
I cannot overstate how grateful we are to you for all you have done for us.
You’ve brought laughter, love and colour into our lives – especially to our brilliant boy Otis.
Seeing how you are together literally makes my heart smile.
Always by each others side, whether that’s for cuddles or mischief.
Even Rosie would approve … albeit through slightly pissed-off eyes.
So thanks for an epic first year and here’s to a shitload of them to come.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Bird, Bonnie, Cats, Comment, Family, Happiness, Home, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Otis, Rosie, Sky
I’m back.
But I barely survived.
Part of that is because my trip was full-on.
The other part is having a puppy is even more full-on.
Seriously, it’s like having a baby all over again. Fortunately, we loved that period of our life so it’s not too bad … but bloody hell, it’s also pretty demanding.
A few months ago, I wrote about how people in agencies should be taught ‘the art of conflict management‘ … but now I think the other skill we should all be taught is puppy training.
If that doesn’t teach you how to be patient and calm when facing a barrage of noise and needs, nothing will.
That, or go work in China, hahaha.
That said, it is lovely having a pet in the house again. As I wrote before, while Rosie was a small cat, she filled the house with her presence and personality – and while we still have had Otis’, Sky, over these months, it hasn’t been quite the same.
But now, with Bonnie, the house has a new energy in it.
Sure, it’s slightly manic and lacking any degree of peace … but that’s a small price to pay to have life bubbling again. No wonder my Mum loved it when I came home to visit her. Not just because she was very happy to see me, but because my friends would come around and suddenly the place was a bustle of noise and laughter … a rewind to what daily life was like when Dad and I were around.
I get it. I just wish I could tell her that I do.
What’s interesting is we didn’t meet our dog until we picked her up … so we were totally reliant on the breeder being smart with her recommendation. Not because we were being picky about its looks … but because in addition to being a family pet, she has to be a trained support dog for Otis, hence temperament is key.
Thanks to the training she’s received from the breeder – and us – so far, it’s been good, but like Rosie it will definitely take some time until we find our own unique rhythm.
Finding the rhythm is a magical thing.
Some of it comes from ritual. Some from the environment. But most of it comes from the interactions you have and keep having together.
But when you find it, it’s special because it evolves into a sort-of invisible bridge where you can come together in the middle … with the knowledge to understand the unsaid. To interpret different sounds and signs.
It’s why that quote at the top of the page made such an impact on me when I read it.
A reminder that one of the most powerful ways to know how much someone has impacted you, is to look for those traits in others. Not so they become who someone was, but because they show you the best you can be.
So welcome Bonnie. Thank you for what you’ve given us already.
Filed under: April 1, Bird, Bonnie, Cats, Dog, Family, Home, Jill, Otis, Rosie, Sky
It’s April 1.
Normally on this day, I undertake an elaborate ‘April Fool’ post.
There’s been some good ones in the past.
The ‘Method Planning’ post.
The ‘Sniffer Dog, Retail Location Scout’ post.
The ‘AI Human Robot Focus Group’ post.
The ‘Poetry Drives Communication Effectiveness’ post.
… I say good, mainly because some people fell for them and then repeated the ‘methodology’ without realizing they were actually publicizing their own gullibility.
That said, there have been many that have just been shit … and I don’t mean that just because people saw through them like a greenhouse.
But today there is no April Fool … both because I’m trying to come to terms with the fact we’re in month 4 of 2025 already and because later this week, the joke is on me – because in just 5 days, we welcome a dog, Bonnie, into our lives and home.
A puppy is very different to a cat.
More energy.
More dependence.
More biting.
More noise.
More trouble.
More mess.
And yet, despite all that, I have to say I’m very much looking forward to the house having an additional member in the place.
While we have Sky – Otis’ bad-tempered budgie – the loss of Rosie, is still felt … despite the fact that she slept for a lot of her final years, and no one feels this more than Jill.
She used to love having Rosie sitting next to her as she worked.
Snoozing on a pillow next to her computer. Occasionally waking up to quietly judge her or her work or demand that Friskies be fed to her by hand whenever she chooses.
It was a nice interruption given she spent a lot of time on her own while I was at the office and Otis was at school.
And while she likes the momentary peace and quiet she gets from us being away – going from 1000 decibels of noise to 1 is extreme.
For her, the silence becomes loud-as-fuck with the time passing slower than a snail.
It can be pretty lonely and intimidating to be honest … and while she has never complained about it, I know that’s one of the reasons why she has always loved animals and why they’ve always been so important in her life.
So while Bonnie will, for all intents and purposes, be Otis’ pooch … she, along with Sky, will be Jill’s workday colleague and after 20+ years of waiting for a dog, I’ve never been so happy to be the April Fool.
Filed under: Age, America, Attitude & Aptitude, Cats, China, Death, England, Family, Hong Kong, Jill, LaLaLand, London, Love, Otis, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore
I want to apologise to someone.
Her name is Denise and I worked with her for a few months back in 1996.
While I don’t remember much about her, I do remember this …
1. She was a freelance media strategist.
2. She was a wonderful human.
3. She had amazing ginger hair.
4. She loved her cat.
The reason I want to apologise is that one day, we heard she wasn’t coming into work for the week because her cat had passed away. And frankly, I was a prick. Not because I said anything to her or about her – but because I distinctly remember thinking her reaction was a bit extreme.
A week off?
For a cat!
But of course it wasn’t just ‘a cat’ and it wasn’t just ‘a pet’. It was family.
I know some people may think calling a pet, ‘family’ is a silly statement to make … but unless your pet is a ‘working animal’, I can only imagine the reason you think that way is because of how you treat it, rather than how it treats you.
Because pets love you.
And they want you to love them.
Sure, they show it in a myriad of ways, but to them – you’re most definitely family.
Even those independent, demanding, constantly judging beasts-on-four-legs known as cats.
They may make you work hard for affection.
They may turn their back the moment they get what they want.
But they love you … almost as much as you will likely love them.
So why do I want to apologise 28 years later to a person I have no knowledge of where they’re at and who I only knew fleetingly?
Well, even though the moment I had that thought I was angry at myself for how fucked-up selfish I’d been letting that thought enter my head even for a second, I want to apologise because it breaks my heart to say I now have first-hand experience how losing your precious pet feels because earlier today, we had to say goodbye to our wonderful, cranky, seven-country-living, Singaporean street cat: Rosie.
We’re all devastated.
Totally adrift in grief.
And even though we know she had an amazing 17 years of pampered, spoilt, and deeply-loved-and-cared-for life – which is much, much longer than the average tenure of a street cat [which is 2 years] – it still doesn’t feel long enough.
No where close.
While she’d had a kidney problem for a long time – as well as some arthritis in her back – it was being managed by a special diet and us putting little steps around the house so she could climb on whatever she wanted. But that aside, she was generally in good health. In fact it wasn’t that long ago the vets were surprised how old she was as she seemed so much younger in her spirit and overall well-being. And over these 17 years, there had only ever been one occasion where she had become properly ill so she was a strong little thing.
But then one day recently – about a month ago – things changed dramatically and suddenly.
Loss of appetite. Her meow sounded like she was smoking 70 cigarettes a day and she was restless. The vet had given her an injection to relieve the arthritis pain and some meds to help with her kidneys and it worked for a few days but – even though her spirit, meow, calmness and complaining returned with gusto – her loss of appetite kicked in again.
We took her back to the vet and her blood test showed a huge decline in her kidneys function – far more in a month than we’d seen in almost a decade – so we took her to the cat hospital for a few days to see if more intense treatment could help.
It was very sad in our house because while we hoped for the best, we feared for the worst.
For me, it all felt a bit like the last days of my Dad. I described it at the time of someone walking around their big, old house and closing all the windows, turning off the lights, closing the doors. One by one. Bit by bit. Getting ready to depart for the last time.
And that’s what it felt Rosie was doing.
Still loving – in her own, unique way – but spending more time in her own world.
Ironically, in the days leading up to her going into the hospital, she was more loving than maybe she’d ever before. Wanting us to wrap our arm around her while she slept next to us in bed rather than adopt her normal practice of balancing precariously on our hip. Like she was trying to say goodbye. A final loving cuddle. I even thought that at the time but I tried to put that idea out of my mind, not wanting to contemplate it or consider it in case I tempted fate. But the reality is, I knew things had changed and nothing reaffirmed that more than when we went to see her in the hospital and it was obvious the treatment wasn’t working.
She was happy we were there.
She came out for a cuddle and a brush.
But she was not great. Not just because of the sedatives, but because she was not well.
And maybe, that was the first time, we accepted we had to make a decision.
A decision no one wants to make.
A decision where you actively have to fight your instinct to be selfish and keep them around.
But while she was not in pain, her lack of eating – and the increasing effects of her kidney disease – meant she was getting very thin and her quality of life was starting to be impacted and that was the very last thing we would ever want for her. Would ever do to her. So after a call from the hospital, we brought her home today, Monday 12th, … spoiling her with love, kisses, brushes and walking her all around the house, including the deck outside, where she loved to be for hours, in the sun, in nature, watching the birds fly by … before gently letting her go this afternoon, at 2:15pm, surrounded by us by her side.
And we’re inconsolable …
For her loss and the feeling of confusion and pain we felt making this decision.
Knowing it was the right thing for her, but hating it at the same time … all while trying to fight off the feelings of guilt that we knew when her last day would be, before her.
And even though it honestly feels like she knew it was time and wanted it to be, it still feels so wrong and hurts so deeply … to the point I feel sick thinking about it, physically sick. That’s how much our wonderful little Rosie meant to all of us.
I mean Otis had had her in his life, his whole life.
Even my Mum had met Rosie, that’s how long she’d been part of our family unit.
Hell, anyone who has read this blog at anytime over the past 17 years, would know her as she made her first appearance within days of her coming into our lives.
And yet for someone so small, it’s amazing how much she filled our house.
Her presence. Her sounds. The little signs she left to make sure we knew this was ‘her house’.
Without her, it all feels quieter, emptier, less welcoming now.
Every corner reminds us of her. Every little place and piece.
Of all the places she lived – and there were a lot, from being a street cat in Singapore to HK, China, America and the UK – she loved this place most.
She loved the peace, the nature, the hiding places and the opportunity to run out the front door when we would come in and then annoyingly sit under my car until finally being tempted out with Friskies.
In fact, to remember her we’re going to make a decal of her, as mocked up above, that we’ll place on the window at the side of our front door. The place where she would come sit, meow and greet us whenever she heard our cars come down the drive. And we’ll also scatter some of her ashes in the trees she loved to look at from the deck at our house as well as get another tattoo in her honour to go with the one I’ve got of her nose and whiskers from years ago.
If you think this is all a bit over-the-top, I don’t care … because I cannot put into words how much I loved that cat.
I cannot tell you how grateful I am to Jill for finding her and bringing her into our life.
And while she was my first proper pet, she was more than that to me.
She was a member of my family.
Crazy I know, but she was.
Hell, I even turned down a job – ironically at Colenso – because of her. Well, partly because of her, because the New Zealand authorities wouldn’t let people based in China bring their pets to the country. Fortunately, having moved from China to the US and the UK, it was all good.
In many ways, I don’t want to end this post because then it means it’s final. Official. The end. And while I know her memory will stay with me/us forever, the reality is our wonderful Rosie has gone. Which is why I end the last post for this week with this …
Rosie. I love you.
You made an old man very happy – even when you made me bloody annoyed.
Like the time you broke my brand new X-Box. Or destroyed that expensive lamp.
But you always did it with style.
Just like the way you would find new places to hide.
Giving me a heart attack thinking you’d got out and run away.
Like when you made Jill climb up onto the roof of a block of flats in London … only for you to be found an hour later sleeping in our wardrobe, having purposefully stayed quiet while watching us run frantically around, shaking a bag of treats shouting, “Rosie, where are you?”
I am so grateful for all you were.
I am so glad we could give you the most loving of homes.
But most of all, I’m so grateful for all we were together.
We’ll never forget you.
Please don’t forget us.
And please forgive us.
Because we love you so much.
Always will.
Thank you for everything you gave to us.
We send you off with hugs, kisses, brushes and Friskies.
Sleep well our dear Rosie.
Sleep well.
Rosie. 1st July 2007- 12th August 2024.
Today, it’s this one’s birthday.
Her seventeenth.
Or, in cat years, her 84th.
And while she’s definitely showing her age in her speed, she still has her Singaporean street cat, street smarts.
Not just in terms of being a cranky, demanding, wonderful asshole. But also knowing how to get us to do whatever she wants and requires. From coming downstairs to help her get under the covers of our bed … to feeding her the Friskies she has adored all her life to not being pissed at her she still darts out the front door when she wants the sense of freedom. [Though that’s also because she only has the energy to then sit under our car rather than run away]
I love this cat.
I love her moods, her quirks, her ways.
I love that she has lived literally all around the World – in 7 countries to be exact – so now takes everything in her stride … to the point she’s not bothered – or tempted – by all the birds that fly around our house in the trees or even the bird that lives in our house. Even when Sky is out of her cage and dive-bombing her in her bed.
I know 17 is a ripe old age for a cat, but frankly, that’s something I try not to think about.
The reality is she has given us a lot more than we’ve given her [and we’ve given her a fuck-ton] so I don’t want to think that one day that may stop.
Though the reality is even when she’s gone, she’ll still be with us.
In our hearts. In our memories and in how she has shaped, influenced and brain-washed our behaviour.
Which would be the thing she would be happiest about the most.
But – thankfully – we’re not there yet. In fact, the vet thought she was waaaaaaaay younger than she actually is, such is the quality of her general health … so we will celebrate her Royal Highness Catness’ special, special day with Friskies and hugs … even though we accept we will only get the hugs because of the Friskies.
Happy birthday Rosie. You’re fucking great. [Even when you’re not]