My Tina

Her fur was soft and plush. Like rabbit fur. She didn't like it when my feet were pointed directly at her. If I was going to pet her, I had to wiggle my fingers in the 'petting' signal and sidle up to her slowly. Even when she wanted a pat and had flung herself to the ground and rolled in that universal coy cat taunt of 'you just try and touch my belly and see what happens to you' if I approached too fast she would run.

Her mother was a feral kitten. I suspect she was dumped at my sydney rental by the drunken mad cat man that roamed the neighbourhood looking for his lost cat that had snuck into his van when he went to do his grocery shopping and then run away in fright. I think he saw my three fat tabby cats and sympathetic eyes and decided I was a likely one.

I'd been feeding cookie for a couple of weeks when I noticed her getting fatter than I expected. She seemed far to small to be getting preggers. She gave birth when I was away from home for a fortnight catsitting my brothers cats. I'd asked my flatmate to keep putting food out for her. I didn't manage to sight the kittens for weeks. They were so quiet. She would hide them under the bbq before calling to me for food. New Years Eve long weekend I caught them and bundled them in the vacant granny flat at the back of the rental which was probably full of asbestos. They were unfriendly and athletic. Loved to play. Two metres of ribbon with a toy mouse tied on the end and tripple somersaults and metre high leaps.

Her brother Michael became more friendly, but only to me. Tina just never seemed that interested. She was the prettiest of all my cats. Little girls immediately fell in love with her and were then were very very frustrated when she ran away and hissed at them.

I brought them with me to Townsville when I moved. At first they all stayed inside, but summer was so hot that in all good conscience I could not keep them locked inside, even though I have issues with letting them roam free. Partially to do with the effect on wildlife, but mostly because my first cat owned from out of home was hit by a car and killed.

After some time of freedom she became more approachable. Where previously she would make me chase her twice around the flat before crouching still to let me pat her, she took to inviting me to touch her - as long as I kept to the rules. She started to meow and nag me for food, which she had never done before. There was invitation to interact. If I were outside in the yard, she would come over and see what I was doing and keep company.

Picking her dead body up, still soft and warm lying in a halo of blood from the driveway of the house opposite will haunt me for awhile.

I couldn't dig a hole deep enough to bury her, but I can't face the thought of putting her in the wheelie bin with the used kitty litter to be thrown out with the trash.

I have wrapped her in a favourite dress. It cost a couple of hundred at the time. The skirt is soft and flowing, though not as soft as her fur was. Rest assured. I am not going to keep her bloody body in the freezer. At present she is as deep a ground as I can get her and I am buying potting mix to pile atop. One bag a day for the rest of the week, I guess. It is all I can fit on the scooter.

She was dead in all the dreams I had last night. Her blood stained collar is sitting on my bookcase.