Pet Cemetery

In my early teens I had three beautiful kittens! Their lives were short and their deaths were of Shakespearean tragic proportions to me. I have never had a pet since.

As it turns out as an adult, I am neither cat or dog obsessed or even much interested in either. Perhaps these small tragedies robbed me of being a pet owner for life.

When I was a girl I lived in a beautiful green valley west of Coffs Harbour. My father being a bit of a hippy loved the bush up close to our doorstep. At any one time there was a procession of fat and thin snakes, funnel webs, koalas, echidnas, bandicoots, goannas, bush turkeys, dingos etc etc. We were encouraged to live with all creatures large and small. My kittens unfortunately couldn't live by the same decree.

First there was Abigail. A little black kitten ( I cant even remember where she came from). I loved her deeply. I can remember now her curling up on my pillow and on my desk when it was homework time. One November she was poorly. My darling grandfather took her to the vet on the way to dropping me at a rehearsal for Santa's dancing elves that I was to perform as at Carols By Candlelight that year. I remember the phone call from the vet as if it happened yesterday. A snake bite, she died that afternoon. My grandfather looked like he would have laid down his own life to stop my sobbing. Months with O's in them are the worst for snakes the farmers told me.

Shortly after was Phoebe, fluffy mongrel, but cat handsome. She was as much in love with me as I was of her. She had the wandering bug. One morning she wasn't curled at my toes, that stretched into a day and then into two. I was cooking pancakes when I saw Dad coming up the veranda with her collar. The school bus lady found her on the side of the road. I still remember Dad's face.

To ease the pain a new kitten was purchased. A purebred would surely not stray or tempt snakes. Princess Anoushka the Burmese, she has a blue cream coat with a orange mask. Noushie soon became the favourite. She nestled on my Dads shoulders as he moved about the house, she meowed like she was talking, she was charismatic and fun. She went missing too, but two days later I found her stuck up a tree, 2 kms from home on the next door dairy farm. I ran home through rain screaming for Mum to get help. It was 6am and Mum swiftly called the bush fire brigade, whom promptly told her, they would not get out of bed on a Sunday to rescue a cat. They arrived 2 hours later. I was still waiting barefoot in my nightie at the bottom of that tree. I couldn't believe my luck. But of all the memories, I can't remember how she died. Was there a vet involved, another car.....that memory is gone. I remember the heartbreak and the lock of fur I kept for years after. But coming back to me now is Dad digging another grave and a broken tooth. She must have been hit by a car. But the detail is blank.

My poor parents, is it a right of passage in life to guide your child through the love and loss of pets. Oh I dread it. Our pet cemetery was behind the wood heap. It included guinea pigs that Dad pried from the jaws of a hungry python. But the most gruesome death of all, my brothers gallah, Paul. A carpet snake crawled in to the coop whilst skinny, and in the morning, a fat snake with a Paul sized lump was waiting to be let out. And that is that, now I don't own any pets or intend to. Perhaps those little heartbreaks hardened me for life. Or until Hugo starts asking for one..........