Tonight we said goodbye to our cat, Nicki.
She was 17 years old. Hubby had had her since she was a kitten. He was given two cats as a Christmas gift. The other cat, Whinger, disappeared in 1996, so Nicki was a little survivor. I had been her other mum since she was 5.
When we had the other cat, Nicki was always the wanderer, away from home all day only coming home by nightfall for food and a bed. Once she was an only cat, she stayed home and made use of the comforts. In winter she would climb up on top of the pantry to sleep because the air was nice and warm up there above the heater.
Nicki never liked strangers, always hiding under our bed, until getting older when I think it was too much to have to move. And when K came along, I think she took any attention she could get even if it was a pat from a stranger.
She threw up all over the carpet, peed regularly on the laundry floor and was so fussy when it came to food unless it was food off our plates.
Nicki loved to eat corn and mashed potatoes, especially leftover gnocchi. Chicken out of someone’s fingers was a treat although she often took our flesh as well as the chook.
She loved to curl up on my lap on winter’s nights, espcially if I put her fleecy rug on my lap. And she loved to sleep on the bed with us, which she hadn’t been able to do since K was born. She especially loved to curl up behind our knees under the quilt.
Hubby and I have both been in tears (big softies) and don’t know what we will say to K when she asks us where Nicki is.