No More Tripping Over Pebbles in the Dark

I’m going to tell you the story of Tripping Over Pebbles in the Dark.

Stupid name for a blog.

Pebbles is our little cat, also known as Cooking Fat.

Pebbles came into our lives when Lashes, as a small child, developed an irrational fear of cats. We thought the best course of action was to get her a little cat to scare her with when she misbehaved. No……wait…….. That’s not right. I’ll try again.

We thought that having a teeny, tiny, cute, little kitty around the place would get her over her fear of cats before it turned into a major phobia.  It sounded like a good plan to us.  So we duly turned up at the rescue centre that weekend, which is bloody miles away, only to be told that they didn’t have any kittens in but they knew of some – ten minutes away from home. Sigh. We drove all the way back to go and see said kitty.

It turned out that a woman had taken in a stray cat which promptly had kittens. Before she got rid of them all, one of the kittens had kittens. She was up to her ears in cats and fed up to her back teeth of her dog trying to eat them. We walked in saying that we’d like a little boy cat. “This is a boy” she said as she pointed to a tiny black ball of fluff. To be honest, I think if we’d gone in saying we wanted a martian she’d have pointed to it and told us it was a martian.

“Ok, we’ll take it.” That was when the fun started. This little ball of fluff had had to fight to survive the gnashing jaws of the dog and the squabbling of other cats. I don’t think it had been treated terribly kindly by the owner either. It had quickly learned that the best strategy for survival was to be quick on its feet.

As the woman bent to pick up the kitten, it  sprang into life and almost literally flew round the room at breakneck speed via the furniture and the curtains. It was bit like watching Evel Knieval on the wall of death. Round and round it went until it finally came to rest – hanging like a bat from the tv where it had got its claw stuck.

I went and gently plucked it from the tv while looking at Boofuls with one eyebrow raised, silently questioning if we were doing the right thing getting this tiny hell beast for our feline fearful daughter. However, once I had the little thing in my hands and it finally stopped shaking and howling we decided that there was no way we were leaving it behind. The poor creature was terrified.

A visit to the vet quickly ascertained that the little boy was a little girl and was younger that six weeks old, maybe five weeks old but probably a bit less.

Lashes decided that the hell beast was to be called Pebbles and I’d love to say that they became the best of friends but Pebbles never really lost her fear of everything and has always been a very skitty kitty and she definitely didn’t like children. If she did become best friends with anyone, it was with Boofuls, they’ve always had a special bond between them. Lashes though totally lost her fear of cats.

That was almost twenty one years ago. We worked out that she must have been a new year cat so her 21st birthday is any day now. Over the years she has remained tiny, a true lady but always fearful and nervous. As the years have gone on she has lost her eyesight and her hearing. She has become senile, walking round and round in the kitchen screaming “I don’t know where I am! Help! Help! He…ooh, food.” She has developed diabetes and arthritis. How she’s lived this long I have no idea. Obviously the country air agrees with  her. I open the door in the morning and look down as she looks up and we greet each other. Her by screaming  at me “Open the bloody door you fool!” and me by saying, “You’re still here then.”

She spends her days in the kitchen, right in the middle of the kitchen floor, circling round and round my feet as I’m trying to cook. How I’ve never tripped and sent a pan of something hot over her I’l never know. Or if she’s not in the kitchen she’s sleeping in bizarre places, halfway up the stairs, in the middle of the landing or right in front of the bathroom door. Many times I have tripped over her in the middle of the night on one of my nocturnal bathroom visits. Hence ‘Tripping over Pebbles in the Dark’. It’s a tribute to our little black cat.

Yesterday morning when she came in it was very obvious that something was very wrong with her. She was almost dragging one of her legs behind her and was clearly very uncomfortable. Off to the vet’s we went. “Well, you know she is a hundred years old, don’t you?” Basically, he was telling us to prepare ourselves.

It wasn’t with any surprise but with a great deal of sadness that we discovered Pebbles crossed over the rainbow bridge at some point during the night last night. She went to sleep in her  basket and just didn’t wake up. Exactly the way we always hoped she’d go. We’re going to miss you, you howling, mewling, trip hazard.

No more tripping over Pebbles in the dark.

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30 thoughts on “No More Tripping Over Pebbles in the Dark”

  1. I’ve often wondered about your blog name…. A beautiful name and (dang it what’s the word I want)… memoir to Pebbles. She reminds me a bit of our late Spokane. He had a knack for lying right across our bedroom door so that first thing in the morning when you got up to go the restroom the first thing you did was trip over him.

      1. Not sure if I accidently replied or not… Wasn’t finished… Spokane was from Spokane, WA… My husband got him as a kitten b4 we got together.

    1. I’m happy to say that Pebbles had a marvellous life once she came to live with us and especially when we moved here to the countryside. Today we are taking her to be cremated and then we are going to scatter her ashes on her favourite hunting ground.

      1. Yes toonce was like that.. But tooncie cat was also vindictive:)

      2. Ooh, I’m not a massive fan of vindictive cats. Too unpredictable with their “I love you, cuddle me, stroke me, DON’T YOU TOUCH ME!!!!” Hehee. Both of our kitties have been lovely. Rather too lovely. Pebbles used to rub her face all round ours. Which would have been nice had she not had acid spit that left your face itching for hours after. Toonce is a great name though. Where did that name come from?

      3. Way back in the 70’s on Saturday Night Live they had a cat named Toonce The Driving Cat. In the end he would usually drive over a cliff. It was a comedy skit..

      4. I left him to the family who i sold the house to. He now had a famuly who loved him and i had no place in the RV for him.

      5. I now live in a RV but to tell you the truth thats getting a bit old.. I want a meower. A Bengal cat..

      6. I wanted to ask how life in an RV was but I thought you might think me rude. A bengal cat would be luverley, there is one down the lane from us and it is absolutely stunning.

      7. They put tabbys to shame with their slinkiness. In winter its cold and dreary. The sound of the rain on the roof would drive a sane man insane.

      8. That would never have crossed my mind. But now I come to think of it when we stayed in caravan during the summer and it rained it was horribly noisy.

        I think the nomadic life may be just about over for you, time to put some roots back down. I look forward to hearing about the transition.

        Now, I have to go and get organised as I have to have the cat at the crematorium for 10.30 so please don’t think I’m ignoring you when I don’t reply. Enjoy your day ( or is it night where you are?).

  2. I like that Pebbles had a good innings and she was fortunate to be taken in by you lovely people. A good blog name, but even better now I know the cause (I was thinking more of those nocturnal trips while blind drunk!). 😀

    1. LOL, no. I don’t really get blind drunk – mostly because my tolerance level for alcohol is pathetic. The name came about because of her bad habit of sitting in odd places and my bad habit of not putting the light on. A black cat on a dark carpet at night isn’t the easiest thing to spot.

  3. I love your sense of humour, and while I am sure today has been especially sad, Pebbles seems to have had a great life with you. I was not a cat fan until a Siamese strayed into my life. Also great talkers, and very attached. She used to sit on the end of the tub if I took a bath – that’s dedication. Was always waiting for me in the driveway when I got home from work – often to complain about something my husband had done. (she came along before he did). Woke me in the morning in time to go to work – by blowing on my face. Never worked out that Sunday was a rest day. Would scratch at the door to be let in, and always thanked me when I did (but not my husband!). Siamese have such a vocal range there is no mistaking what is going on. When she passed away I saw her shadow in the loungeroom for months. I couldn’t bear to get another cat or dog. I haven’t had a pet since. Still in mourning twenty years later . . .

    1. Siamese cats are amazing characters, I’m not surprised you could never bear to replace her. Our other cat, Java, is a rag doll, like a siamese but long haired and also very vocal.

  4. She had a lovely life with your lovely family and it sounds like the best possible way she could have gone really. My family got our cat from a rescue home and she was always a skitty kitty as well. Hugs xx

  5. You must miss Pebbles very much, but at least she had a long life – and a good one – with you. She sounds a bit like our Pearly Greyhound in temperament. I’ve often thought Greyhounds are a lot like cats, but don’t tell Pearl or Millie I said that.

  6. Oh no! I’m sorry. I’m glad you had Pebbles for so long. What a sweet tripping hazard she must have been. Do cats cross the rainbow bridge like dogs, or is it called something else? Either way, hugs to you and yours, dear friend. 😦

    1. Thanks, Vanessa. I’ve missed you. Happy new year! I like to think they all cross the same rainbow bridge. Poor old Pebs – the place seems empty without her.

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