Goodbye to a very good cat

She will be missed.

May 14, 2024

I first heard about Tsilla when Martin and I were dating in Melbourne. He’d tried to pet my housemate’s cat, Morty, on the stomach. Morty was absolutely not having it.

“My cat at home, you can just bury your face in her stomach,” he complained at me as Morty slunk off, tail twitching. “She loves it. She’s so soft!”

By the time I met Tsilla, she was already 15 years old. She’d been born in Marseille then moved here with the family (at a staggering cost for transport) and had been living the retirement life in tropical paradise since.

Does this look like a cat living a hard life?

Apparently she used to jealously insert herself between Martin and whatever girlfriend he had at the time in his bed. She was the litmus test as to whether Martin and my relationship would survive. When I first arrived, I could tell; she wasn’t going to just let me waltz in and steal her man. And fair enough, she was here first.

I knew I had my work cut out for me.

Slowly, bit by bit, I won her over. A little scratch on the head here, a cuddle there. Eventually it was me she’d wake up at 3am purring in my face wanting some love.

A few things about Tsilla:

I’ve never heard a cat with such a bizarre meow. It was low and surprisingly loud for such a small creature.
I’ve never met a cat that drooled so much. You’d pat her and watch balls of spit form at the sides of her mouth. Then they’d either drip down onto your face or she’d shake her head and they’d go flying. Either way, absolutely disgusting.
She used to love sleeping on top of suitcases and piles of clothes. If you didn’t put those things away quick smart, they’d be covered in Tsilla hair before you could say ‘I’m home!’.

I thought she’d live for forever. But two days ago, my mother-in-law found her body curled up next to the road. It might have been the stray dogs that hang out near our house, or it might have just been her time. Either way, Martin came in cradling her little body and said, “Lisette, I’m so sorry. Tsilla is dead.”

I only got to know her for a few short years, but she was such a big part of this place and has already left such a big hole. I keep expecting to come across her sleeping in the dog’s spot (while the dog is relegated to the floor), to hear her yeowling for food at stupid hours of the morning, to have her jump onto my computer and demand my attention.

We buried her next to the path up to the mountain and planted a longan (dragon eye) tree on top of her. One day, I hope we’ll eat the fruits from this tree, the yellow reminding us of her big eyes.