Our cat died

Sadly on Saturday we said goodbye to Zelda - also known as the fattest cat in the world, until she got old and skinny - and one of the sweetest-natured, softest-coated and loudest-purring cats ever. She was originally a barn kitten - the mother in law of a woman I was working with back in 2000 had a property down near Bega and a pregnant grey cat. The father was suspected to be a ginger tom, and when the kittens were born some were grey, some were ginger and one was tortoiseshell.

I said I wanted a kitten as a surprise birthday present for my husband, so they thought the tortie was the best option, and made sure she was given plenty of pats and hugs and human company until she was old enough to leave her mother. I don't know if the siblings found homes ... I suspect not. My workmate drove up from Bega with the cat snoozing on her lap, and brought her into work in a cardboard box. She was unbelievably cute, and not much got done in the office that day. It was the Department of Defence, so not much got done most days, but that day was worse than usual.

I drove it home in the cardboard box, waited for Brad to get home and then made him sit at the table with his eyes closed while I got his present ready. It didn't go super well because the kitten meowed and ruined the surprise, but I still remember just how adorable the little ball of fluff was waddling across the tablecloth. I don't know why we called her Zelda - it just suited her. I have a great-aunt Zelda, but there is no resemblance.

Anyway, our existing cat initially hated her of course (when Zelda was a tiny kitten Dominie used to put her paw on Zelda's head and hold her away from the food dish until Dommie had finished eating) but then they got on ... a bit like sisters. Mostly pleasant and cosy with occasional spitting brawls.

The strangest thing about Zelda was her reaction to number one son when we brought him back from the hospital. She wanted to be near him the whole time. She would sleep under his bassinet, and follow him round. This photo is one of my favourites - the shocking day when he started to crawl and she realised her world as she knew it was over. We think his first word was 'cat' ... but it might have been 'car'. Or 'cap'. Really who can tell. We do know that when he was about two he had a vertical scratch mark between his eyes that he never said a word about until we noticed it. Even then he knew that if the cat scratched you, it was entirely your fault.

Looking back on the photos so many of them are baby/toddler/boy wrapped up in a quilt with the cat on top. Honestly she had the life of riley - sun, plenty of food, lots of cuddles and very little stress ... until we introduced the rabbits and then the bane of her existence, the dog.

In the end she went downhill very quickly. Last week she was a bit stiff and deaf but healthy; then Thursday she started losing movement in her back legs. Friday she was OK for most of the day but then started struggling for breath in the evening, and by Saturday morning she was largely unconscious so Brad took her to the vet for a one way trip. We are very sad to say goodbye to our companion of eighteen years, but she did have a pretty good life, and 18 is not a bad age for a cat.