Tussy

Tussy was my first cat that I got when I was eight just after my family moved to Victoria from Montréal. In Montréal, it was decided that I was allergic to cats. Even though I loved cats, I wasn't allowed to have one.
Here in Victoria, I was visiting a new friend's house when I mentioned that I liked cats. My friend's mother knew someone who's cat had had kittens and was trying to adopt them out. One phone call later, I had a cat.

I'm not sure where the name Tussy came from, but that quickly became his formal name. His usual name was Fleabag. You can figure out why. Now I think it's a horrible thing to call a cat Fleabag, but it was always meant with affection.
Tussy was always a bit of a scrapper and often came home with fresh wounds to show for it. He seemed particularly unfond of raccoons. And they of him.
This rough and tumble existence may have taken some years off his life. He died of old age many years too soon.




My dad took this picture. It remains one of my favourite cat pictures. Tussy loved being in front of the fire.