It all started when I was about 6 years old. My mum, brother and I were grocery shopping at Safeway, and always made a habit of looking at the notice board on the way out.
"Kittens free to good home
Curry's Farm, Curry's Road, Warragul"
I'm not sure exactly how we went from seeing the add to being at the farm, but I remember looking down on these tiny little kittens and experiencing pure bliss. Aaron chose a black male with white feet and aptly named him Socks. I chose a plain black female who I named Annabel. We were ecstatic.
We learnt about giving them milk and mixing it with water so we didn't upset their tummys. We fed them weetbix and loved them as much as we were capable.
A week later I went for a wander in my backyard and found Annabel, dead. She lay lifelessly on the ground with foam coming from her mouth. It was this day I first hand learnt what death looked like. And I hated it.
The following day I heard mum ask dad if they should get me another one. I heard dad tell her no, we could learn to share. I remember mum coming out and telling me to get in the car with her, we needed to go get bread. I was so upset at how cruel my dad was that I didn't want to go anywhere. I didn't understand how he couldn't see my heartbreak. Mum insisted I get in the car, and reluctantly I went conceding she might buy me chocolate to make me feel better.
She drove back up Curry's road to the farm and told me to pick another kitten. I remember looking at her confused. And I remember her saying "don't worry, dad will get over it." This was the day I learnt that adults could lie to each other too, but maybe sometimes that was okay.
I left the farm with the runt of the litter. Matilda I named her, after my favourite VCR.
I think somehow animals know the difference between kids and adults. As kittens they let me put them in my doll cradle, and cover their little bodies with blankets while I rocked them and sang them lullabies. We used to bath with them, we thought they should be clean too (it took way too long for our parents to tell us you didn't need to bath cats..).
Tilly got pregnant about a year after we got them. We had to learn that cats weren't like humans, and it wasn't weird for them to "love love" their siblings. Watching her little belly grow round and then seeing the tiny little kittens when she gave birth was incredible. She knew exactly what to do. I learnt about natural instinct and saw how animals could nurture.
Both Socks and Tilly had to go in to be spayed after that. I didn't really know why mum was sending them to have surgery they didn't need. I didn't see the issue with having lots of little kittens. I guess she explained it to me though and we had fun laughing at them when they came back with cones on their necks.
Moving house was a challenge, and my brother and I had to climb under our house to rescue them when they went to hide on moving day. We found them, and we loved them the whole hour drive to our new house. We were so afraid they would run away, but they never did, they always came back.
My brother must have been about 12 when my parents gave him the responsibility of feeding them. They might have only got fed every few days, but we learnt about what it really takes to sustain life.
Both of them would follow my brother and I on walks down to the local river, or down to the forts we would build by the power lines. I was always nervous they wouldn't know how to find their way home, but sure enough they always knew.
We went through a lot over the years. I saw her grow and she saw me grow. She would sit with me when I was lonely, and when I wasn't. She would drool if you stroked her back too much. She could never get enough of smooching her little face on your watch or your rings. She loved love.
Tilly got old eventually. I guess that's inevitable. She started to turn grey and her back legs began to wobble. We found out about a year ago that it was arthritis in her hip joints. We had to start thinking about what was humane. But it's hard to balance loving something so much you don't want to let them go, and loving something so much that you need to let them go. That decision wasn't made until today.
18 years just didn't feel like long enough. I feel guilty for leaving her, like I didn't pat her enough before she had to go. This little ball of fluff taught me so much about life, about love, about death. And while I hate that this day has had to come, I am forever grateful that all those years ago my mum took me back to Curry's farm.
I'll miss you, Tilly.
