Filed under: America, China, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Home, Hong Kong, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, New Zealand, Otis, Parents, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore
So tomorrow marks the 2nd month since Rosie passed … and I am still struggling with it.
I appreciate how pathetic that may sound, but it’s how I feel.
In many ways, the loss of Rosie feels very, very similar to the loss of my parents.
I don’t say that lightly.
I also don’t say that because my parents weren’t wonderful.
Frankly, they were amazing and gave me a childhood where I can honestly say I never wanted for love, support or encouragement. And while I didn’t really appreciate how special that was until I was much older and realised not everyone got to experience that, I definitely understand how blessed I was for what they gave me and left me.
However, while Mum and Dad were my physical and emotional constant throughout my first 20+ years of my life … as I went through my key adult ’life stage’ years – such as marriage, moving countries [a lot] and starting a family – they weren’t. Part of this is because by then I was living far, far away from them – so only connected to them by phone, albeit on a daily basis, as well as my annual visit home – and part of this is because sadly, both of them died over this period of time. Which means from 2007, Rosie – along with Jill – were my physical and emotional constants.
Wherever I was … whatever I was going through … they were the ones who I went back to each and every day.
Who were there for me, each and every day.
In essence, they were on the other side of the bridge that took me between childhood to adulthood, which I hope helps explain Rosie’s significance and importance in my life.
But there is another reason I feel such loss and that is because I can’t help but feel I had something to do with it.
At the end of the day – while it was out of love to ensure she didn’t suffer given her kidneys had stopped working – I/we made the decision when her life would end. And for all the compassion, care, gentleness and tears we shed, it is something I still feel guilty about.
Of course it is full of irrationality …
Somehow, I am of the belief that we could have nursed her back to health. That … had we not taken her to the vet that Saturday morning for a routine injection, she’d still be with us.
And maybe she would … except the likelihood is she would have ended up suffering far more as we wouldn’t have had the time to get her the specialist care that ensured she didn’t suffer more than she had to.
But that Saturday is burned into my mind.
That morning she was almost back to her old self.
Jumping on our bed in the morning. Wanting food. Doing her loud ‘surprise happy scream’ every time she saw us. We even said, “she’s back to her old self”.
The injection at the vets was just to help with her arthritis – nothing more – and yet a quick blood test set off a chain of events that led to us saying goodbye to her 48 hours later.
And while I know the reality of the situation is her kidneys had started to properly fail … in fact, her readings had more than doubled within the month – from an already terrible score of 400, which represents ‘stage 4’ out of 4 possible levels for a cat’s kidney health to just under 1000 – I still find the image of leaving our house looking well and returning ready for goodbye hard to reconcile. Hard to let go of my complicity in creating this situation – even though every vet we spoke to had already warned us of the severity of her situation and, if truth be known, we were aware that her previous illness a month earlier signified a major shift in her wellbeing. As I wrote in the post announcing her death, that shift felt similar to the final stages I saw my Dad go through before he passed.
Doesn’t make it any easier.
Doesn’t make being home any less challenging.
Because everything screams she is not there.
It’s all so heartbreaking. I keep wanting to ring the vet who helped her sleep to give her an injection to make her come back alive. To erase the decision we made, even though it was absolutely the right decision … a decision that I think even Rosie wanted. Especially as kidney failure gives a cat about 30 days before it all ends in tragedy and we were close to that timeline being hit and yet I want to ignore all that as I just want her back.
Hell, I keep finding myself saying, “come on Rozzie” when we go to bed … expecting to hear her feet make a little sound as she jumps off wherever she was to follow us down the stairs. But the hardest thing … the thing that absolutely reinforces she’s not longer with us is that I no longer have to check the front door when I leave in the morning or get in at night.
Each day, as I was heading out to work, Rosie would come upstairs with me. While this was because she hoped for extra Friskies – despite I had just given them to her downstairs – I would end up giving her a couple more because I couldn’t resist her face and it was the best way to ensure she didn’t sneakily follow me out of the front door where she felt a compulsion to explore, even though she knew she wasn’t allowed to. And at night, when she heard my car come down the drive, she’d be waiting at the glass next to the front door where I would see her silently meow to me through the glass as a way of saying hello, before trying to get through my legs when I walked in.
Occasionally she’d succeed and then proceed to sit under mine – or Jill’s – car until finally getting bored [or tempted with treats of falling in reach of one of our arms] but it was a daily ritual and now I can keep the door wide open and it literally fucks with my head.
I miss it. I miss all the things she did.
Even the stuff that annoyed me … like coming into the lounge at night – when Jill and Otis were asleep – and literally screaming at me, telling me it was time to come downstairs to bed with her.
She did a lot of screaming, but over the years she ‘educated us’ to what each one meant.
One was that she wanted to sleep under our sheets in bed and needed us to lift them up for her to go underneath. One was that she was hungry and wanted us to hand deliver treats rather than eat the food in her bowl. One was for us to open the lounge doors so she could go and sit out on her special bean bag cat bed on the deck so she could look out on the trees and feel the sun on her fur. In fact, the only time she didn’t scream was when we were actively looking for her, fearing she had got out when we came home and didn’t realise.
She did do that a couple of times, but never went far. Or for long.
She knew where home was.
She knew how well she was cared for.
She was definitely not a stupid cat.
And that’s why I can’t think about getting another. At least not yet.
I did look for cats who needed adopting very soon after Rosie had gone, but then I realised I wasn’t doing it to replace her, but to replicate her and that is both impossible and unfair to whoever we adopted.
So we need time. And while this may all sound dramatic for a cat, I point you to the post I wrote about Denise – the woman that I need to apologise to. Who gave me a very early warning as to what this would feel like. Because a pet is not just for life, a pet adds to your life and Rosie was – and will forever be – my first animal family member and I’d do anything, as I would for Mum and Dad, to have her back. Even for one day.
So regardless who you are or what you’re doing, don’t take the good shit for granted.
Because as annoying as it can be, it is better than it not being there.
And that is why – despite having experienced death throughout my life – Mum, Dad and Rosie’s passing has been the most significant.
What is interesting is that at my age – which I recently heard described as ‘the youngest of the old bunch’ – I am heading towards more of that. Including, my own one day … albeit hopefully a long time away. But it does make you re-evaluate what is important and who is important, which is leading to a lot of discussions and considerations about the future we want to have rather than the future we will get given.
But while there is a lot of sadness in this post, I want you to know I’m not in a bad way.
I was, but not now.
Part of that is because we have Rosie’s ashes with us and weirdly, it feels like she’s home.
Not exactly as we would like.
But exactly where she belongs.
And that, I’m increasingly learning, is the real definition of happiness, fulfillment and success.
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This is the last post I’ll be writing for 2 weeks as I’m off on a ridiculous trip for work.
Across Canada. Across America. And a quick visit to Australia. Quite bonkers.
But I am eternally grateful for it. Not just because of the air miles, but because it is being organised by a client who wants me – and 3 colleagues – to really understand who they are.
The details. The nuances. The values. The realities.
At a time where so many clients want simple, superficial and easy, they’re going out of their way to make it difficult for all of us … but in the most brilliant, rewarding and valuable way ever.
And for that we’re all eternally grateful.
Not because it’s rare, but because it means they give a fuck about what who they are, what they do and what they want us to create together.
They’re invested in making something great, rather than just expecting excellence without contributing anything to it beyond deadlines, mandatories and distain.
And you know what this ‘in it together’ approach achieves?
A team very, very motivated to do something extraordinary for them.
That’s contrary to what many companies think is the way to work with agencies or partners these days. Believing that if they treat people like disposable commodities, they’ll get them to work even harder for them. Which means they value you nothing other than the price they pay for something.
And while I appreciate what we do costs a lot of money and so being on top of things is important, I’ll tell you what ends up costing a whole lot more: treating partners like shit. Not because they’ll stop caring about what they do, but because they know you don’t even care about who you are.
Which is why we’re thrilled to be going on this trip … because nothing shows commitment like inconvenience.
See you on the 29th … as there’s a holiday in Auckland on the 28th, hahaha.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, America, Art, Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Context, Culture, Design, Friendship, Gifts, Jewellery, Music, Rosie, Swiftie
How the fuck is it October?
OCTOBER?
It was only February 2 weeks ago, wasn’t it?
How the hell are we going to be in 2025 in less than 3 months?
On the bright side, it does mean I go on my family holiday in less than 3 months – but October, already? Crazy.
What else is crazy is this ..
Someone sent me this.
I don’t know who it was, but I got it.
And the fact they sent it to my house, means they know me well enough to know my address.
But what messes with my head is that while the message in on point, the bracelet design and size is one that would be better placed on the wrist of a 13 year old Taylor Swift fan.
Was this deliberate?
Was this a mistake?
Did they know that regardless of its ridiculousness, I’d still wear it.
Is it a diss or a reward?
I am so confused – especially as my friends have form doing shit like this. Like the time they discovered my iTunes password and bought every Taylor Swift album – with MY CREDIT CARD – which I only discovered when all her songs started appearing on my iPod. The clever, evil bastards. [But not as clever or evil as this]
But as confused as I am, even that isn’t as confused as the people who see me now wearing it with pride … especially as it sits under a tattoo I’ve had done of my beloved Rosie, so it kinda looks like a fucked up cat-collar.
So to whoever got it for me – whether for love or for taking the piss – I love it, I thank you for it and I just wonder if it will last the few months until we hit 2025.
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]
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Daddyhood, Jill, Otis, Rosie, Sky
On Monday, I posted about why I’m a birthday bastard because I give my colleagues prick pressies in the form of customised cakes.
Well as you know, just over a month ago it was my birthday and my son, aged 8, did the same to me. Except his is less prick but definitely owning me.
You see Otis has a budgie called Sky.
To be honest, I’m quite shocked at how much I like Sky.
It has bags of personality, chirps happily every day and apart from tapping its beak on the iPad when let out its cage, is pretty perfect and beautiful.
Hell, even Rosie – my beloved moggy – likes her.
OK, maybe that’s too much of a promise, but she definitely puts up with her.
Anyway, the guys at Colenso think that because I never really talk about Sky, I hate her.
True, I don’t love her as much as Rosie, but I definitely don’t hate her.
Well one day I told Otis what my colleagues thought and last month – on my birthday – he presented me with matching t-shirts, for him and me.
And it says this …
How genius is that!
He designed it with his Mum and I loved it so much that I wore it while giving my talk with Martin and Paula at Cannes.
I had had another t-shirt made for the occasion, but this won.
Which means he’s a much better – and thoughtful – present manipulator and it’s another reason I love him from the top of his head to the tip of his toe.
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Tomorrow we have the day off to celebrate Matariki.
It’s an important day in New Zealand and if you want to know why, click here.
See you Monday.