Bridie

My cat Bridie* turns 19 today. 19! I can't believe she's that old, but I am so very grateful that she's still with me and in pretty good nick. She had her old lady cat checkup a couple of months ago, with the wonderful, kind and understanding vets at the Annandale Vet Clinic, where she's been a patient most of her life. (These people are so lovely. They understand when you get all teary even talking about the fact that she's so old and will, very likely, die in the next year or two.)

I've known for a few years that her kidneys haven't been in top shape, typically for an old cat, but on this last visit they also found that she had a problem with her heart. I forget the exact condition, but basically her heart has been working overtime and she had very high blood pressure. (Ironically, this heart problem was good for her kidneys: the heart was pumping lots of blood through them, which was good for them.) Since then, she's been on heart medication (one quarter of a half of a human-sized medication daily!).

I took Bridie back to the vet on the weekend and her blood pressure has returned to normal, which is great. She continues to compensate adequately for her kidneys, and despite being totally deaf and a bit, I fear, demented, she's remarkably well—and agile—for her age.

One day I want to write Bridie's life story, from Balmain Markets kitten to my funny little old lady, but that will, I imagine, feel rather like a eulogy, and I'm not ready for that! (I'll never be ready for that.) I met a couple in the waiting room who had brought their 20 year old Devon Rex cat for a checkup, and they told me they had only just recently lost a black and white moggie at the age of 26. Now, I don't anticipate Bridie has another 7 years in her, but as long as she's got, I hope she remains well and happy and as eccentric and affectionate as she's always been.

Here are some pictures I recently scanned of Bridie as a kitten. She was such a gangly thing, with those huge ears! I will upload the rest to my flickr account soon. Oh, and some more recent photos as well. You will note her coat is a bit untidy looking. She's more or less stopped grooming in the last year. (As Gwilym the vet said, she's letting herself go!) I comb her as much as I can (as much as she'll let me!), but it's not the same as a proper tongue bath. I asked Gwilym about bathing her, but he didn't think it was necessary. She's had such a pretty, and unusual coat (different layers, colours and textures—and she sheds constantly, all year 'round) that I am sad to see it not at its best, but she had to be bathed years ago when she had a stress-related over-grooming thing that had the skin on her belly and spine constantly scabby and weeping, and it wasn't fun. Plus she only weighs 3.06 kilos and I don't think "drowned rat" would even come close to how she'd look wet these days!

Wasn't she the cutest thing! All those pretty spots. She's still got 'em, but they are not as dark as this—she's not as dark as this shows. I think it must have been the light. She's basically a grey tabby with pinkish tortoiseshell streaks (faded now to a sort of beige) with a Burmese shaped face and frame.

She's a bit older here—look at those long legs! And I never thought she was going to grow into her ears. She did, eventually.

Because this is supposed to be a children's lit blog, here is the connection. Years ago, I used to run a weekend literary program for kids for the Children's Book Council at the NSW Writers' Centre, and the most successful of those was a Narnia party. So successful, in fact, that we had to run it twice. (Movie fans and celeb spotters: Hugo Weaving's children came!) My good friend Ros Bastian, who was then president, organised for a friend to make this Aslan cake. We kept the head after the first party and had a new body made for the second. After the second party, my then partner and I (we must have been married by then from where this photo is taken) took the leftovers to a 30th birthday party—and nobody would eat it. "We can't eat Aslan!" I don't remember the many children at the Narnia parties being anything like so squeamish. They got stuck in with gusto.

Anyway, that is a now-grown up but still very young Bridie meeting Aslan** (with lower jaw missing, by the look of this). After that, we buried the damn thing in the backyard. (Aslan, not Bridie.)

Here she is in resplendent middle age. And weighing rather more than her current 3.06 kilos.

And this is how she spent her birthday. Sleeping. On her head.

Happy birthday, baby girl!

And courtesy of Nicola (and I can't remember how to embed videos and Jonathan's not home to help me, so you'll have to follow the link) join me in meowing her a happy little birthday ditty.

Oh, look! There it is! Clever me!

*She's named Bridie because today, her birthday, is also Evelyn Waugh's birthday. So Bridie is for Brideshead as in Revisited (I saw the new film the other day—it was OK). My dad affectionately calls her Brideshead, which is cool with me.

**I met a girl called Aslan once, at the Darumbal (sp?) Hall on the north coast in 1997.

For those interested in the fate of my Rather Old Cat (18 in October), Bridie, yesterday she visited the vet for her annual checkup. I am delighted to report that she is in extremely good health for a Feline Of Advanced Age. One dodgy tooth, but she's apparently compensating well for her declining kidney function, and is on track to make it to the Big 2-0.

Phew!

She's 17 today! Born on the 28th October 1989—and today utterly refused to pose for a photo (I have the scratched fingers to prove it!), as is her prerogative as an old chook. The photo below is the only spontaneous one I managed to take. She is still perfectly capable of getting into the bath and demanding I turn on the hand-held shower so she can have a drink (alerting me to her needs by bashing it against the porcelain bath wall). Here she is, circled and bemused, as the shower attachment has fallen into my (rather dirty) bath.

I am sure I must be capable of a far more poetic tribute to my remarkably energetic old feline, but as we have spent our many days and years somewhat dully together, I can only find it in myself to say—happy birthday, kitten cat, you lovely old thing.

She did it again!

Bridie, seen below safely in the middle of the bed, has once again managed to fall off her cushion. How many times does she do this when I'm not home to witness it?!

Final question—does she look almost 17?

PS Make sure you also read the comments on the blog entry. I was particularly entertained by the connections people make between the cat story and USA politics.

Back in January, my best friends' dog,
sweet little Eadie, snuck out of the house and got herself run over. We
were all terribly upset about Eadie's death—but now, some months on,
Cathy and Tim and Lina and Raffy have a new addition to their
household. And what a delightful creature young Biddy is! (She's called
Biddy because she's a Liddle Biddy Thing...) Biddy is a labradoodle,
allergy-free and as black as Eadie was white, and too sweet and smart
and gorgeous. Here are some photos from Day 1 in the new Pack:

The Itty Biddy thing.

Carolina and Biddy (the little black blob!)

And because this category is dedicated to Bridie, Misrule's resident cat, here she is checking out her new scratching post (which I don't think she uses, but at least she's leaving the new sofa bed alone):