An Ode to Pixie

By Tracie Aylmer  

On the night of 17 May 2018, at 10:30pm, I impatiently received a knock on my door from someone I used to know, along with her boyfriend. It was late for me. I didn’t know how I would feel with what would be given to me. I actually never liked cats.

I always considered myself as a dog person. I loved dogs so much. Cats nearly always loved me, though. Some of them came running for a pat. It was fascinating for me to watch.

On this night, I was going to receive an 8 year old Bengal cat. She was going to be rehomed from a family that no longer wanted her. I had to do research on the breed. I had no idea there was such a breed at the time. I thought all cats were adorable little moggies.

I did a little research, and was helped out on buying cat food by a cat lover. At the time, I was completely out of my depth. I was advised she liked roast chicken, so at the time I bought a roast chicken to give to her to ease her into my little 1 bedroom apartment.

Pixie was understandably terrified. She hid under the bed the first night. I didn’t know what to do, so I left her under the bed. I went to bed, but had a really terrible sleep.

In the morning, I woke up and saw her sitting on the far end of the couch. I went to the other side of the couch to give her a proper hello, and she came right up to me. From then on, I was her human. In that moment, she bonded with me and would be nobody else’s. She had also eaten the chicken.

For the next few days, I gave her roast chicken and she came to me afterwards, purring loudly and rubbing herself against me. She did this for 5 minutes each and every time she was fed the first few days. I then gave her cat food that was hers and hers alone, and the 5 minutes of rubbing herself against me and purring like a steam train continued. It did eventually stop. She started expecting to be fed.

She had some quirks from the previous place. In that place, she had to fight for her food. She was quite chubby at that time. She was left to her own devices. She didn’t let anyone pat her and had no toys to play with. I asked about toys, and was told that she hadn’t bothered with them. They didn’t understand her.

She started doing laps in the small apartment, especially at night. I woke up in the middle of the night hearing her run from one place to the next.

One night early on, she showed exactly how comfortable she was with me. I was lying in bed and about to get up to go to the bathroom when she hopped on my lap and promptly fell asleep. I was desperate to go, but this was a moment I wanted to remember. The cat who refused to let anyone touch her had decided to curl up on my lap. I let her be for about half an hour, before desperation decided to wake her up.

Another moment, she went exploring on top of the shower recess. All of a sudden I heard a loud noise coming from the bathroom. I tentatively called her name “Pixie?” and heard a very questioning meow in response. She fell into the shower recess!

She was also desperate to go out, but I lived on a very busy highway at the time. There was no way I was going to let her out by herself. She had to get used to the place first. I also decided that she was going to be trained on a leash and harness. I had read somewhere that Bengal cats can be trained, especially if early on, so I decided to see if I could do it.

After 3 months, I put the harness on her for a few minutes and she played dead. She hadn’t moved. It was very new for her, and she definitely didn’t like it. A few days later, I put it on her again for a few minutes. This time, she played dead but started hilariously crawling towards me. I knew then that I eventually could put it on her with no problems.

It took around 3 months for her to get used to the leash and harness. I ended up telling her that I was putting her clothes on, just like I put my clothes on whenever I wanted to go out. It worked. She was also more desperate to go outside than stay in. She wasn’t an indoor cat.

One time, she sneaked out after coming back from a walk. I got to her and picked her up. She fought me really hard and scratched my arms with her intent on staying outside on her terms. I won that battle and got her inside. I gave boundaries to her, which she had never had before because I found her so adorable I was a pushover at first. Our relationship then changed to something utterly devoted by the both of us.

I remember when I got her that I was really sick. I kept getting stomach pains all the time, as well as severe joint pain. I was fobbed off as having “white coat syndrome”. Quite a few doctors came to the same conclusion. I ended up being asleep for quite a bit of time. I obviously couldn’t work, and it took effort to do much of anything. What I hadn’t realised was that my gallbladder needed urgent removal, but it took the pandemic for that to happen in emergency surgery. All that time, Pixie was near me. I ended up also eventually being diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis, which has changed my life.

She was so funny, even if she didn’t mean it. A few times, she lifted her bum up and peed on black cars in the parking areas around our apartment. One time, she did it to a drug dealer who had sat inside his apartment and watched. I was so embarrassed I got a bucket and water and washed the pee off. He didn’t care. He loved her just like everyone else did.

Pixie came to her element when with me. Everyone wanted her, but she only wanted to be with me.

After the gallbladder surgery, I started studying. I eventually got a job using my studies, and bought a car. In 13 months, I paid that car off. I then saved up for a deposit on a property. I wanted to give Pixie stability, and the housing market was starting to skyrocket. I knew in order not to become homeless I needed to somehow get in the market. Pixie would not have gone well being homeless. She needed a roof over her head.

Meanwhile, I walked Pixie every day – rain, hail or shine. One time, Pixie and I were walking and all of a sudden it started bucketing down. She complained about getting wet, and meanwhile I was directing her up the stairs to our apartment.

I found a place and bought it, which meant that we had to move. I was able to get her easily into her carrier by watching YouTube videos on how to do it. Unfortunately, everything else didn’t fall into place as easily and it took another couple of hours before we ended up being in our new place.

Pixie spent a few days inside before I showed her outside. She ended up loving it, especially the courtyard. She loved all the grassy areas. I had picked well for her.

I also started taking her to the vet at the end of every year to ensure I had more time with her. When she was nearly 15, she had to get her teeth cleaned. She went under, and when they were getting her ready she started hissing at them. Whenever I took her outside, if she hissed she immediately came back inside the apartment. Her hissing at the vets meant that she expected to go home.

The vets utterly adored her. She was the only bengal cat at the vet. Some of the staff became determined for her to like them. That never happened. She hated the vet.

The teeth cleaning gave her another year with me. It was a year of delight.

A couple of times on a Saturday, I had her on the leash and sat down on a chair near to her. She decided to investigate on her own. It took me an hour to try to find her. I had no idea where she went. She was so cheeky. Others tried to help me, to no avail. I eventually found her on the other side of the fence of the courtyard. She always stayed close. She knew where home was.

Looking back, there were certain behaviours that should have made me aware way before I realised. Instead of jumping on the bed, she crawled her way up. She forgot people. She also became extremely clingy. She would meow for me to go to bed while I was eating or washing up dishes. All I wanted to do was hang out with her anyway. I was always desperate to go home to be with her.

It wasn’t just her yearly checkup showing her kidney and liver results were abnormal. It wasn’t even the ultrasound I got for her which showed a slightly enlarged liver, back in December last year. I should have opened my eyes up wider to see that time was running out.

Just a few weeks ago, Pixie started meowing at midnight, and then at around 3am. I thought she wanted to go outside, but I never let her out at night. At first, I would call her name and she would eventually quieten down. A couple of nights of this during the working week, and I turned on the light and found her in the other room. She couldn’t see.

I kept the light on, and did as much research as I could find. It appeared that my poor girl had dementia. She was sundowning really hard.

She quickly showed many other signs. She could no longer keep it all from me. My baby girl was going through a nightmare. I then took her to the vet, who diagnosed her with dementia and arthritis. She put Pixie on anti anxiety medications to help her at night.

Pixie had started throwing up her food nearly every day. My carpets have signs of that, and I will need to replace them soon. She could barely keep anything down. The vet gave her anti nausea medication, which for a while she actually loved. This confused the vet, who told me it wasn’t the most pleasant tasting medication. I was just really happy she was eating again and not vomiting everywhere.

The vet was concerned about Pixie’s blood pressure, and advised me not to give her anything with salt in it. Pixie and I shared food, especially chicken. She loved her chicken. She especially loved roast chicken and I would go to the shops and buy it regularly for her. Her blood pressure ended up being low, so I bought even more roast chicken for her.

The vet then told me about the Quality of Life stages for cats, and told me how to find out about her quality of life so that she didn’t suffer. It was coming to the end of her life, and she had only just turned 16. The vet also said that Pixie had severe arthritis. She was actually riddled with it. Yet another medication for anti inflammatories was added to the list Pixie had to take to ensure she didn’t suffer.

This part is really difficult for me to write.

It didn’t take long. Only a few days. I could no longer deny what was happening. I kept taking time off work to be with her. My work was very forgiving. I kept closing up early. I also took a day off and took her to the beach and a park nearby so she could see something else. She tried to get up on a ledge, and lifted her arms but could no longer jump. I picked her up and put her on the ledge.

On Friday 6 February 2026, I had a neighbour check on her a few times. The first time, the neighbour said she was fine. The second time in the afternoon, Pixie had gone downhill. There was a problem. It wasn’t long until I could get home, but I was anxious until I saw her.

I then noticed her coat. It was dull. It no longer had the bengal sheen. She walked very slowly. She could no longer play. Everything was painful for her, but she was still eating. My neighbour and I calculated according to the Quality of Life score, and because Pixie was eating she still had QoL.

On the Saturday, it was a different story. Not only was she in pain even with the meds, but she stopped eating. She wanted ham and corned beef that I was eating. I gave it to her. She went outside. I let her outside. She walked around very slowly, and kept rocking herself while looking in the same place.

In the afternoon, her body started purging everything. It came out of both ends. Her faeces was liquid brown, until there was nothing left.

Her quality of life reduced to next to nothing. I took photos, but then I have so many photos of her already. Early in the morning, she lay down next to me and I took some photos that showed me that her time was near. There was a light shining around her. It seemed as if she already knew.

All of a sudden, at around 5am on Sunday 8 February 2026, she had a surge. She was running around and jumping everywhere. She wanted to eat, so I gave her some food. I was relieved, until I did some research and found it was called a death surge. She ran everywhere, just like she used to, and then all of a sudden she stopped and sat down next to me with a blank look on her face.

I then knew I had to carry on with the at home vet visit, no matter how painful it was for me. She wasn’t going to get better.

At 7:58am on Sunday 8 February, my Pixie left this world for something without pain. I was told this impossible decision was for her benefit, but it doesn’t stop me from grieving. That baby girl gave me life.

I will never forget her.

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