The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

Sixteen. For a street cat from Singapore, that’s amazing.

What’s also amazing is that she’s still in pretty good nick.

Yes, you can tell she’s getting old.

She’s slower … less mobile and definitely sleeps more.

But by the same token she remains cranky, vocal and remains as demanding as ever.

And if another cat comes anywhere near our house, she goes full gangster mode … hissing, growling and acting like she’s ready to fight despite the fact she’s behind a glass door.

Like those TikTok videos that show men loving family dogs they didn’t originally want their family to have … I was in a similar situation.

I didn’t really want us to have a pet.

Not because I’m a bastard, but because Jill and I were living in Singapore and I didn’t know how long we’d be there and I just was worried about the hassle of bringing it with us.

But Jill had always had pets and I wanted her to be happy, so while she originally wanted a dog, we settled on getting a cat.

She threw herself into the search.

It wasn’t just about getting any cat, she had to feel a connection to it … so after visiting various pet shops with their over-priced, pure-bred snooty moggies, she came across a little street cat that had been found by a family and was wondering if anyone wanted to adopt.

Jill went to see it and it is here that street cat did the best move of their life.

As Jill lifted her up to her face, Rosie moved her head forward so their noses touched.

Despite the fact Rosie would not show such love and tenderness for about 6 years, that ensured the deal was done and we were now a cat family.

I still remember sitting in a cab outside the apartment as Jill went to pick her up.

I was a bit anxious and nervous and eventually the door opened and there she was, in her little cat bag, where we both wondered what the fuck we had in store for each other.

And while there have been some annoying, painful and scary moments … it’s been generally nothing but joy.

Put it simply, I bloody love that cat.

There’s things I’ve done for her that I wouldn’t do for anyone. Literally anyone.

What things? Well how about some of this …

In HK we paid someone to pat her so she didn’t feel lonely. I did a project for an airline on the condition they flew her in the crew quarters rather than the cargo hold. We built ‘penthouses’ for her to hang out in. I gave an entire presentation about what a client can learn from her and her ways. I even got my office painted with her – and some of my colleagues moggies. And that’s just the tip of the sad-cat-bastard iceberg.

That said, every year I worry this is the year … the one where we have to say goodbye.

And while I know that will happen eventually, she’s doing OK.

Yes she needs some blood pressure medication, but apart from that, she’s in pretty good nick.

That said, I remember when we were moving to NZ I was worried that would be it.

Despite having flown from Singapore to HK … HK to Shanghai … Shanghai to LA and LA to London … London to Auckland is a whole different beast.

But bizarrely it wasn’t just the distance that worried me, it was that there was a stopover in Singapore – and given she was originally from there, my nihilistic side told me it was written in the stars that if there was any place she would reach the end, it would be where she started, like some fucked-up circle of life. Which – to be fair to me – is kinda what happened when Otis was born and my wonderful Mum died a few months later. Which – given I knew she was ill – was something my nihilistic side had also started to feed into my head.

Except with Rosie, it thankfully didn’t happen. [Fuck you, nihilism brain]

Better yet, we knew it hadn’t happened at the time because we had paid for a service that ensured at every stage she was checked and photographed.

Hell, even when we ended up in MIQ in NZ – where we spent longer in quarantine than she did – we got bombarded with pics of her and she looked to be having the time of her life.

Jetlagged … but happy, thanks to brushes and treats that I had already got sent to the quarantine place before our arrival.

But if you think this proves how much she means to me, you’re only partially right.

You see, at her age – which is 80 in human years – my attitude is she’s earned the right to do whatever she wants to do.

Which is why I’ll get up at 3am if she decides she wants a treat at 3am.
Which is why I’ll give her my chair if she decides she wants to be under the aircon.
Which is why I’ll buy her an extortionately expensive outdoor beanbag because she loves sitting outside in summer.

If we were her servants before, we’re her slaves now and I’m OK with that.

NZ is good for her.
She has a lovely, comfortable peaceful life.
Lots of places to go hang out, a big deck to sit and watch the birds and loads of food and water. And treats.

And where in the past you always felt she was disappointed in you, now you feel her gratefulness.

A cuddle here. A lick there. Meows, headrubs and sleeping on your hip.

Hell, she’s even totally chill that Sky – Otis’ budgie – is in the house.

It’s a lovely feeling.
A family feeling.
And while we give her so much, she’s given us – and me – more.

Happy Birthday my dear Rosie. Keep proving the critics wrong and us on our toes.