Yesterday, the first of August, the “Horses Birthday”, and – as close as we can estimate, the birthday of my large and bad tempered feline. Daisy has been with me since he was 8 weeks old, and a tiny wee kitten. I was 24, and living in a shared house with a few girlfriends. Between us, we decided that a black and white cow would perfectly round out the household. Unfortunately, we lived in Darlinghurst, and had a tiny, concreted backyard. Perfect for sunbaking nude over a morning coffee in summer, but not a good home for a beautiful bovine. And so our Daisy the cow had to be a cat. A black and white one. Until we found that there were no black and white kittens to be had (this was before I had a clue about animal welfare, and was choosing a pet like I would choose a handbag..).
So we came home with a tiny grey and white terror. He was the centre of our lives for 6 months, but when the house broke up (as most shared houses inevitably do), I got left with the cat.
It’s been an interesting ride in those 12 years, and Daisy has been a faithful companion through all the ups and downs.
Thanks Puss, and here’s to the next 12 years 🙂