Farewell, Mr Tibbs. We made the tough decision to say goodbye to the puss last week. He was nineteen and a half years old and had several health issues. While it was sad to say goodbye, I’m glad I was able to give that old cat a comfortable and caring home.

Four and a half years ago, I realised the scruffy old cat I kept glimpsing in my yard was actually living under my house, starving and frightened. He would hiss at me and run away if I got too close, but I gradually won him over with food – fresh chicken fillet his favourite. The vet was able to trace his previous owners through the microchip, but they didn’t want him anymore, so I said I’d keep him. I didn’t think a scruffy, ancient, half-wild cat had many other options.

Fast forward a few years, and Mr Tibbs got a sea change when I left the city and moved to Mallacoota. He loved his new life here, although he was a bit cranky during our bushfire evacuation, when we spent a day and night in the car. I spent that New Year’s Eve begging him to shut up, basically.

His favourite things were eating and sleeping, and he enjoyed plenty of both in his twilight years.

He will be missed, especially by Tilly. She took a long time to learn that he wasn’t a dog and didn’t want to play with the toys she would shove in his face. She got bitten on the nose a few times, but she loved him anyway. Rest in peace, old cat. 🌈 ❤️