It’s a new era.  Disco is dead.  Discocat that is.  My tuxedo wearing, cranky cat, lost her final marble in October last year.

It happened relatively quickly over a week to ten days.  In the end she couldn’t hear or see, and she was losing strength and balance in her back legs, so the decision to put her to sleep was an easy one.  That’s not to say that the act of watching it happen was easy – far bloody from it!  It was the single most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.  Ever.  I knew it would be but nothing prepares you for letting go of a beloved pet.

18 years we spent together.  Mostly with a healthy understanding that I was not to pick-up nor pat said kitty unless requested to do so.  This was a very rare occurrence and one I took full advantage of every chance I could.  The older she got the more chances I was granted – perhaps she finally couldn’t be bothered fighting back.  Whatever the reason, I loved those last cuddles with my geriatric cat.

Discocat came to me from a pet shop in central coastal Queensland.  I had a choice between a long-hair Persian kitten for $200, or my $10 bargain basement short-hair tuxedo moggy.  Many, many times I have been reminded over the years that you get what you pay for……….hmmm.

We moved house eight times, two of them house purchases.  She saw me through three retrenchments and seven jobs.  One intra-state move (by car as the small planes wouldn’t fly animals) and one inter-state move (clear across the country from Queensland to Western Australia in a big jet plane).  And about a half a dozen boyfriends of which she really only warmed (ever so slightly) to two of.

My friends were well aware of her cranky antics from their first meeting, yet most still wanted to pat her – her coat was always so soft and silky, just begging to be stroked.  She enjoyed lovingly, if not greedily, to lick food off of your finger and then bite it afterwards because there was nothing left.  Personally I think she thought it was chicken (her favourite) and just wanted a nibble.  Nothing surprised me like her love for corn though.  Frozen corn, cooked or her absolute favourite, corn on the cob.  What a mess she used to make (always on the carpet, corn sticks best to that!) spreading the little bits and pieces everywhere as she chewed on the cob, stripping it of any remaining corn kernels.  She started this at a few weeks old and loved it up until her final weeks.

D.C. struck fear into the heart of many a dog, young child and adult.  The ONLY person she was ever civil to all of the time was surprisingly her last vet.  Now you’d think that the smell of the surgery would give her some inkling as to where we were and that it usually involved a painful jab, a look at her teeth, a probe in her ears and a poke up the backside.  But it never seemed to bother her.  The only indication she gave of not wanting to be there was to try and get back in her basket as fast as she could.  She never bit that vet, scratched him and from memory only hissed at him once.

My life would never have been the same without her in it.  We saw and did a lot together.  She was beside me through many heartbreaks and life-changes and I hope I provided her with the best life a kitty could have in return for her company – albeit on her terms.  I miss her dearly and still can’t fathom getting another cat.  Not yet.  My Discocat was a one of a kind.

She came into my life with (c)attitude and went out of this world showing the same don’t mess with me character.  As the vet administered the injection and she went to sleep, I stroked her coat and she hissed at me.  Go figure.

I will never forget you my Discocat.

RIP D.C.  1999 – 2017