Remembering Chubby Bunny

Fifteen years ago, my sister and I walked into the Cat Haven in Shenton Park, Perth. I was in my final year of university and was looking for my first cat as an adult. Unable to make a decision, Kerriann made one for me. She chose a two-year-old tabby-and-white male with beautiful green, kohl-lined eyes — like an Egyptian god.

Abused and with spine-damage from a hefty kick, Chubby Bunny was understandably timid. In fact, he spent his first week hiding in the cupboard under the laundry tub. Four months later, he let me touch him for the first time.

With time and patience, Chubby Bunny changed. At first, we developed an “understanding” — we could sit in the same room as long as I didn’t try to get cuddly. Then he started sitting close enough to casually make sure a single paw touched me. In his last few years, he chirruped “hello” every morning, loved having his back and ears scratched, and started showing affection by pressing his forehead against mine.

Chubby Bunny was certainly not a “normal” cat. I like to think of him as an olive. By itself, an olive is hard and bitter. But with careful preparation and marinating, it’s delectable.

When Chubby Bunny died gracefully of old age a few months ago, Justin and I thought we’d never find anyone sassy and demanding enough to replace him. That was before we met a little blue banshee named Violet….