Ode to Toby

We got Toby from a friend my dad played football with. Back then I was 10 and we didn’t know about rescue or adopting an animal. Someone’s cat would have babies and that’s how we got a kitten. My brother and I picked a kitten but we were only getting one and for some reason that was the little girl my brother had picked out. He was 8. Apparently she was a boy though, so we went with our theme of T names for our pets to join Thomas an older cat and Tess our kelpie cross dog. Luckily Toby is a unisex name and it stuck once we took her to the vet for a check up.

Toby was part tortoiseshell and the term fiery tortie (or naughty tortie) was apt. Though I looked up a pet star sign guide when I was in my teens and she was a Libra and a trait of theirs was quick to anger and quick to forgive which was also apt. She had a habit in her later years of having a swipe at you from the kitchen bench where she liked to lay, as you mindlessly walked past to go down the hallway or to the fridge.

She had supermodel looks we always said in her younger years with her gorgeous half orange face, mostly dark back and then her undercarriage consisted on mostly white curly fur which I love to pat, but which she didn’t allow for very long.

She started putting on weight in her retirement years and she got the affectionate name of Jub Jub which I believe was stolen from The Simpsons (Selma has an iguana called Jub Jub for reasons I don’t understand). During her retirement years she pretty much lived on the kitchen bench with her own special bed by the wall phone.

She seemed to have a touch of dementia, often wailing in the middle of the night for short bursts, maybe wanting food, attention or seemingly she was not sure.

Last year she would have got to the age of 19. One of her eyes had a burst blood vessel so my mum took her to the vet. There wasn’t much else they could do as she had cancer behind her eye.

The decision was made on a weekday, knowing I would not be able to handle being at work I took an annual leave day and spent it mostly at my mum and dads. She was fiery right to the end which was her truth at that stage in her life. I gave her multiple last pats and hugs when she would allow it and kisses. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be there when they returned with her in the shoebox but I had with all our previous pets and thought it would provide closure.

I stayed with her while they dug outside and I looked at her and patted her, with a fresh wave of tears. She did look peaceful and she was wrapped in a nice tablecloth inside the box.

Outside my dad didn’t dig a big enough hole and I felt like he was trying to jam the box in “Be careful” I yelled out. I didn’t want any dirt getting into the box. My dad and fiancée weren’t crying but my mum and I were. My brother was away on his fly in, fly out job, we had the dogs out the front with us. Goodnight Tobes.