Teasel
Teasel died a little before 10 this morning, at the age of 20 and a couple of months. He'd been a bit under the weather for a week or so but still had a healthy appetite and was walking well although not very far. Last night though he got a bit ill and this morning he climbed up the stairs to see us. It must have been an epic journey for him at that stage. I think he knew. He was refusing food and water although he was purring when he was being stroked. I called the vet for an emergency appointment and when we took him in we were told that his system had basically collapsed and wouldn't make it any more. He was purring and we got to hold him at the end.
Teasel was given to me in 1994 by my then local vet in Dunstable. I had had another cat run over and I had decided I didn't want another kitten because the cat I had lost was the best cat in the world.
They are all, it turns out, the best cat in the world.
The Dunstable vet was a kind man who knew what had happened so when he called to say he had a black kitten for adoption I went along out of politeness. He was the tiniest kitten you ever saw, his mother had died when he was four weeks old so he had been weaned early and had lost a couple of weeks of growth, so even though he was seven weeks he looked much younger. He won me over instantly and I took him home in a cardboard box. The first thing he did was clamber laboriously up my chest and curl up on my shoulder where he went to sleep.
I called him Teasel because he was both fluffy and spiky. A friend pointed out that he was also "a seed head". He was energetic and lively and used to come bounding across the garden to see me. He would crash through the catflap at full speed.
He was a very tidy little cat and would sit on the end of the sofa with his tail tucked round his front paws.
He could totally destroy a scratching post in the space of about three weeks, ripping through the sisal rope and leaving it in bits on the floor.
He was for a time a mighty hunter of birds. I'm glad he stopped doing that. He once caught a swift in flight which I found, miraculously unharmed, at the top of the stairs. I took it into the front garden and lifted it on my finger where it flew out into the evening.
He was a very amenable cat. I had another cat at the time, a grumpy old three legged tom called Stirfry, and Teasel was gentle with him. They could share my lap, one on each leg, with their front paws gripping my knees, sometimes quite painfully.
When I had some bad times he would come and lick my nose.
He used to like to sneak under the duvet to sleep in the winter. If he couldn't get in he had a painful habit of hooking a claw under my lip and pulling to wake me up. I guess from his point of view it worked because he would curl up to sleep against my chest.
He used to hide in a carboard boxes to ambush my legs. Because the box sides were taller than his head, as far as he was concerned he was invisible, but if you looked down on him he would figure he had been seen. If you wanted him to ambush you, you had to go past him looking away while whistling nonchalantly.
I was worried when I moved to Oxford because he was at the grand old age of 12 and I thought he might be too stressed by the move. 12 turned out to be his prime.
When Jeremy first came to my house he was still hiding out of nervousness from the move. He hid under my futon frame. All you could see was a pair of eyes.
He pretty much decided he approved of Jeremy from the off, curling up on her lap and playing with her shoelaces. When she broke her wrist he kept her company, lay against the cast and purred.
He loved to climb and would try and get to the highest point in the house, on top of a wardrobe or on a high shelf.
When we moved to our new house he was, I think, very pleased as we had a garden (with, more to the point, an even bigger garden over the back fence). He had a stone shelf beside the patio where he could lie in the sun.
When we got our new kitten, Harlequin, he was suspicious at first but they seerned to get on. They would share treats from my or Jeremy's hand. Harley always deferred to him and slightly inexplicably let him beat her up, even though she weighed about twice what he did.
He became old and his legs became stiff and he needed a lot of looking after, which we were happy to give him. He always thought he was stronger than he was and would make doomed leaps onto chairs, windowsills, across the room. He perfected a method of snagging his claw in your shirt, then leaping for freedom, and almost, but not quite, injuring himself with the resulting somersault.
His last meal was treats taken from my hand, last night.
He had the loudest purr and the best, most magnificent tail.
I miss him so much.
Teasel as a kitten. The bigger cat is Stirfry.
Teasel and Stirfry eating in my horrible old house in Dunstable. Note crossed tails which they used to do all the time. Teasel is the closer cat.
Teasel with namesake. Note "Viz up the arse corner" expression.
I did this drawing of him, also in Dunstable.
Waiting in ambush.
Good to travel
In his prime, checking out the flat.
This is all mine.
Respect my authority
I own the high places
Surprised by robot
Pwned by kitten
Enthroned
2 cats 1 lap
2 cats 1 lap redux
1 cat 1 laptop. Teasel perfects his arse programming skills.
King of the garden
Rhododendron hat!
On the podium
The best, most magnificent tail.
RIP Teasel
Teasel was given to me in 1994 by my then local vet in Dunstable. I had had another cat run over and I had decided I didn't want another kitten because the cat I had lost was the best cat in the world.
They are all, it turns out, the best cat in the world.
The Dunstable vet was a kind man who knew what had happened so when he called to say he had a black kitten for adoption I went along out of politeness. He was the tiniest kitten you ever saw, his mother had died when he was four weeks old so he had been weaned early and had lost a couple of weeks of growth, so even though he was seven weeks he looked much younger. He won me over instantly and I took him home in a cardboard box. The first thing he did was clamber laboriously up my chest and curl up on my shoulder where he went to sleep.
I called him Teasel because he was both fluffy and spiky. A friend pointed out that he was also "a seed head". He was energetic and lively and used to come bounding across the garden to see me. He would crash through the catflap at full speed.
He was a very tidy little cat and would sit on the end of the sofa with his tail tucked round his front paws.
He could totally destroy a scratching post in the space of about three weeks, ripping through the sisal rope and leaving it in bits on the floor.
He was for a time a mighty hunter of birds. I'm glad he stopped doing that. He once caught a swift in flight which I found, miraculously unharmed, at the top of the stairs. I took it into the front garden and lifted it on my finger where it flew out into the evening.
He was a very amenable cat. I had another cat at the time, a grumpy old three legged tom called Stirfry, and Teasel was gentle with him. They could share my lap, one on each leg, with their front paws gripping my knees, sometimes quite painfully.
When I had some bad times he would come and lick my nose.
He used to like to sneak under the duvet to sleep in the winter. If he couldn't get in he had a painful habit of hooking a claw under my lip and pulling to wake me up. I guess from his point of view it worked because he would curl up to sleep against my chest.
He used to hide in a carboard boxes to ambush my legs. Because the box sides were taller than his head, as far as he was concerned he was invisible, but if you looked down on him he would figure he had been seen. If you wanted him to ambush you, you had to go past him looking away while whistling nonchalantly.
I was worried when I moved to Oxford because he was at the grand old age of 12 and I thought he might be too stressed by the move. 12 turned out to be his prime.
When Jeremy first came to my house he was still hiding out of nervousness from the move. He hid under my futon frame. All you could see was a pair of eyes.
He pretty much decided he approved of Jeremy from the off, curling up on her lap and playing with her shoelaces. When she broke her wrist he kept her company, lay against the cast and purred.
He loved to climb and would try and get to the highest point in the house, on top of a wardrobe or on a high shelf.
When we moved to our new house he was, I think, very pleased as we had a garden (with, more to the point, an even bigger garden over the back fence). He had a stone shelf beside the patio where he could lie in the sun.
When we got our new kitten, Harlequin, he was suspicious at first but they seerned to get on. They would share treats from my or Jeremy's hand. Harley always deferred to him and slightly inexplicably let him beat her up, even though she weighed about twice what he did.
He became old and his legs became stiff and he needed a lot of looking after, which we were happy to give him. He always thought he was stronger than he was and would make doomed leaps onto chairs, windowsills, across the room. He perfected a method of snagging his claw in your shirt, then leaping for freedom, and almost, but not quite, injuring himself with the resulting somersault.
His last meal was treats taken from my hand, last night.
He had the loudest purr and the best, most magnificent tail.
I miss him so much.
Teasel as a kitten. The bigger cat is Stirfry.
Teasel and Stirfry eating in my horrible old house in Dunstable. Note crossed tails which they used to do all the time. Teasel is the closer cat.
Teasel with namesake. Note "Viz up the arse corner" expression.
I did this drawing of him, also in Dunstable.
Waiting in ambush.
Good to travel
Click to viewIn his prime, checking out the flat.
This is all mine.
Respect my authority
I own the high places
Surprised by robot
Pwned by kitten
Enthroned
2 cats 1 lap
2 cats 1 lap redux
1 cat 1 laptop. Teasel perfects his arse programming skills.
King of the garden
Rhododendron hat!
On the podium
The best, most magnificent tail.
RIP Teasel