Lillian a Bixaboo

She was my odd little cat and she died on the morning of the 2nd of September 2007 at 2.30am on my bed at home with me stroking her.  Our relationship wasn't quite so sweet all through the years.  We both growled at each other, screeched at each other and sometimes we even ignored each other.  But when the chips were down, we always knew where the other was if we wanted a cuddle.  And now, after nearly 23 and a bit years…. she isn't here any more.  Now every movement in the shadows, every dark item left around the place makes me believe she is still here.  I sometimes feel her move near my feet on the bed where she slept.  I can hear the odd creaks and groans of the flat and think she's come to visit.  I doubt she would bother to be honest - to her cat heaven is where it's probably at. 

Lilly was a Burmese cat and I bought her from the breeder quite late in her kitten life.  I was told she was 6 months but when her birth cert arrived from the cat club, she was older. I thought she was as stuck up as her Mother if I'm honest.  A flouncing chocolate Queen with an attitude to boot!  Her little brown baby girl and I only were thrown in to each others paths because there were no boys left in the litter and the breeder was oh so keen to get rid of Lilly.  Sounds horrid doesn’t it?  But it's the truth and look, see how we turned into each other over the years!   

She stropped the moment she came home, hid beneath the duvet and only crept out to eat - some would say she was shy, but if you knew Lilly, you knew she was a Diva.  Most days in the early years she sat with her back to me and only purred when my partner allowed her to rip into tissue as a game or when i would scratch her chin over and over and over.  Once she settled in, there was no keeping her from ripping into my watercolour paintings as she was so eagerly shown how to do.  She would climb doors and curtains and sit on top of cupboards and make sure we all knew it was now her domain.  Even down to pulling down the canaries cage in my Mums room and eating all but the feet and tail of two birds.

We would write silly stories about her, some of which I still have locked away in my filing cabinet.  A series of cartoon stories, Lilly as a stripper with her double life walking the streets to catch a John tom, not needing the cash but doing it just because of boredom.  Lilly under a lamp post, the light shining down on her in her raincoat and shades.  And all through this she sat staring at us, snuggling up on our shoulders, laughing at how stupid we both were. Lilly on stage in Hollywood collecting her many awards for being just soooo fabulous!

Everyone wowed at how long she lasted. 'Thirteen years is the oldest I have known for a cat', 'twenty, and twenty years is usually pushing it'. 

I used to joke that she had found the fountain of youth somewhere in between her late night street walking (she never went outside since we moved from my Mums) and her sleeping all tightly curled up in a ball.  And as the years went on, the madness of her rushing around all over the flat died down and she began to show her years by padding along, yowling as she went.  No more did she climb doors or curtains, no longer could she be found on top of cupboards or sitting sunning herself on the roof top.  It was hard enough for her to get onto the bed in one jump and the bed is close to the floor.  Her time was coming.  Two years ago I thought the feline Soul catcher had called.

It hadn't.  But senile dementia had and she became as nutty as a fruitcake, forgetful and noisy.  If we still carried on with the cartoons, she would have been either in a rocking chair or dressed in dark tweed with brogues and a parrot handled umbrella. I had to show her where her food and water were, after years of it being in the same place and then remind her to go to her litter tray or help her to when she was constipated and becoming distressed.  That lasted for two years and meanwhile we still bitched and moaned at each other and still she slept curled up on my legs most nights but gone were the days of her waking before me to purr into my face to get me up.

I knew she was dying, I could see it.  In her last few days I had to make a decision to whether or not moving her to the vet would have more of a detrimental affect and kill her or make her uncomfortable.  She would have had a stroke in her basket and she hated to travel since young and that basket held more memories of long car rides to Dorking and back.  So I spoke with a close friend to see what she thought, and decided that the best thing was to kept her with me.  In her last day, she didn't move much.  She wasn't in any pain and she still let me touch her and stroke her – I guess most people would have said to put her down.  Her last call when she couldn't see me near made me realizes that it was time. 

I sat up all Saturday, snappy with family members all throughout the past few days and them not realising what was about to happen. Lilly was seen as my baby and everyone was clear that we may well have barked at each other often enough but she was still part of me, a huge big part of me and I loved her.  I kept what was to be, to myself for the day until later that night when the fear set in and Cameron, my nephew text to ask how Lilly was doing. 

I cried as I watched and stoked her as I kissed her goodbye, I only wished things had been different in the last few years.  The light faded in her bright green eyes as she jolted for a second and then she was gone.  But no one really tells you how to tell or what to look out for when your cat dies.  So I sat watching her, looking into her eyes, crying, waiting for a breath.  I couldn't wrap her so I kept touching her head, making her move to see if she would....  But she never did.

I covered her and kept her on the bed with me, watching.  Time moved slowly as the realisation set in that she was gone.  I stroked her fur with passion fruit oil and wrapped her in my pillow case.  Tracy came to pick Lilly up in the afternoon to bury her with her cat beneath her big tree in the wilderness of her garden.  I watched from the top window as Trace put Lilly into the back of the car ready for her final journey.  I couldn't go with. It seemed like a life time with her, now it just feels empty.

There was only one Lillian A Bixaboo, AKA Meow Cat. 

I have no digital pictures of her, my external hard drive has corrupted my files.  I have some of her which I shall scan in, just so you can see the real her and how well Cyan captured her Regal air.  I will add them in the future.

She’s missed, greatly. 

Lilly memorial stencils by Cyan