Goodbye Trixie

Last month our household decreased by two members.

The rather arrogant stray cat that made himself at home with us three years ago and then proceeded to attack all the female members on a regular basis – me, Miss Five and Trixie – our cat of 13 years – contracted his third urinary tract infection. This causes them to pee blood all through the house and, last year, after regaining his health, which rendered me broke in the process, and returning to his arrogant self, I vowed that, should he get sick again, I’d have him put down.

He did and I did.

I was upset for about a day but then, seeing Trixie come out of the shell she’d been hiding in for the last three years, not to mention the lack of mutilated mice and birds being delivered inside, soon put an end to any misgivings.

No longer in fear of being attacked in her sleep or from around every corner where Jesse would lie in wait, she, returned to her joyful, playful self.

The next three weeks were bliss.

Trixie went back to sleeping in my bed and curling up on my lap at night. When the kids and I walked home from school, she would run up the drive to meet us, throwing her tail up in greeting.

And then one night an almighty fight erupted from my room.

I went downstairs to find a random fluffy ginger and white cat bailed up on my window seat, throwing itself, legs splayed, at all the surrounding windows in a desperate attempt to escape from an upper-level floor.

Trixie wasn’t having a bar of another male taking over her patch and stood her ground.

Meanwhile I went back to the phone to say I’d have to hang up. The person on the other end understood – apparently it sounded like a war zone my end.

On the way back I opened the garage door for it to escape but when I got back to my room, there was no sign of both cats.

Growling lead me to the twin’s room, where I found Trixie keeping guard by Miss Five’s bed where its scared and now wide-awake occupant sat bolt upright. I shut Trixie upstairs and closed all the other doors so there was only one way out, went back and lifted up the valence.

A pair of eyes glowed back at me.

“Shoo,” I attempted.

The eyes continued staring and the cat didn’t budge.

Now I was faced with a dilemma. This was obviously going to take some effort to get the cat out from under the bed which was pushed up against a wall and I’d need the light on. I looked at Master Five, who was miraculously still sleeping blissfully, and decided to pull the sheet up over his head so he’d miss the drama.

After placing Miss Five in my bed and shutting the door, I pulled her bed out from the wall, unearthing all manner of rubble.

The cat simply moved to the other end. This went on until I had the bed in the centre of the room and piles of crap now where the bed had been. I went around the back of the bed.

“Rarrr!” This time he obeyed and shot out, down the stairs and out the garage door.
After closing it behind him, I re-assembled the house, popped Miss Five back in her bed, unveiled the still sleeping Master Five, let Trixie out and spent the next few days trying to get rid of the smell of cat spray.

Work that week was hectic in the lead-up to the school holidays, and it took me a few days to realise that Trixie wasn’t herself. She was barely leaving the couch and her food was untouched.

Thinking she must have an abscess from the fight, I decided over the weekend I’d take her to the vet on Monday.

Meanwhile we had a houseful of visitors and Trixie would always go into hiding when we had people over so I didn’t think too much of it.

Sunday morning, the twins said she was sleeping in their room when they woke up but ran away. That day and the next were icy cold and I lit the fire, which I’d just cleaned out for the summer. But Trixie was out there in the storm.

In amongst the chaos of kids and visitors, we made a few attempts at finding her, as well as before and after work the next day.

It was while walking back from school that Master Five spotted her in our garden, barely breathing.

She was dehydrated and probably hypothermic.

I didn’t waste any more time – I gave her a few pats and soothing words and shot inside to call the vets, while the kids tucked her in with a blanket and put some crackers in front of her nose, which, of course, she had no interest in.

On the way in, we sung her songs, relieved that we had found her in time as, at this point, I was still convinced it was an abscess.

Master Five suggested Twinkle, Twinkle.

“How about My Favourite Things?” I said before proceeding to sing: “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens …”

After I’d finished Master Five looked at me with admiration before telling me I should be on The Voice.

I’ve heard myself sing and know this isn’t true.

We got to the vets and it wasn’t good news. X-Rays showed major internal injuries, the cause unknown. She was one sick little cat, said the veterinarian.

With heavy hearts, we said our goodbyes and she was put down that night.

The house is lonely without her and full of reminders. I keep seeing her in my peripheral, only to find the dark shape curled up at the end of the couch is just my washing pile.

This week I picked up her ashes. When I carried the little box back out to the car, the kids exclaimed that Trixie couldn’t fit in there. I had some explaining to do about cremation and they took it in turns to nurse Trixie on their laps on the way home. Master Five insisted she was purring.

Back home, I dug a hole next to her special place and we each took turns at saying a memory we had of Trixie, before sprinkling some soil over the box. Finally we placed a cross and planted some pansies around it and the kids went back to their ipad games and drawing. They’re funny like that.

That evening, after I’d dropped them off at their dad’s it was lonelier than usual. As I pottered in the gardens, a scruffy dog ran up from nowhere. This was unusual - I live down a long drive and there are no dogs in the neighbourhood. The friendly dog kept me company while I went about my outdoor tasks and then watched me through the sliding door when I went in to cook dinner.

He didn’t seem to want to go anywhere so I gave him some left-over cat food and put a towel on the deck which he lay down on.

Intending to call Animal Control in the morning, I said good night and pulled the curtains. In the morning he had vanished.

Someone pointed out that this might have been Trixie coming back to say goodbye. That’s a nice thought.