Author: Daniel

While in his bag he wasn’t that fussed about sniffing much around him – even if I hung him close to something  Walking was for sniffing, being carried was to be savoured and watching only.

When we’d get off a train and leave the station with him in his bag, if we’d already been out a while, I always imagined a bit of a slump in his shoulders when he realised we STILL weren’t home.  he always had a bit more perk to him when we got out at Ruislip Manor station though.  until a couple of months ago, he’d ask to be let out so he could walk down Victoria Road and home.

Towards the end he’d only ask at the junction of Hatherleigh and Ashburton Roads.  Even at his most exhausted, he always wanted to walk the last 3-4 houses, check HIS wall and lamppost, and go through the front door on his own.

When Timothy was actually in his bag, he could take in everything around him – watching everything as we passed by.  He’d often turn his head as if directing me where we should be going.  He loved that bag – possibly because he could see all kinds of new things from it, but I like to think he knew that he couldn’t walk far enough to see those things without the bag – so the alternative would be staying at home.

I don’t think he MINDED being alone for a bit, but given the choice, he’d always prefer to have everyone together, and the bag allowed that.

If he wanted to gt out (either because he was feeling up to some more walking, there was food around, or we’re almost home and he wanted to walk, sniff and mark the street home), he’d fidget with his front feed.  He never tried to climb out, ever, but fidgeting with his front feed was his sign to me that if I put his bag down to the ground, he’d get out and walk.

When we were out on a long day out, for the last 2-3 years we’d have his bag with us.  When we thought he was getting tired or bored, we’d put the bag down flat on the floor (standing it up) beside him, roll up his lead, then pick him up, tucking in his tail and put him bottom-first with his front feet to follow.

One of the best things in the world was seeing his subtle tail-wag as he realised that he was getting into the bag: as it went down on the floor, he’d let out a little gleeful wag which meant we were right to thing it was time for the bag again.

Timothy was an expert in using pillows and chin-rests.  Except when laying with his back against the arm of the sofa, on the bare leather, he’d always have a pillow or chinrest.

Often he’d fashion the pillow himself from the blanket he was using.  Sometimes we understood and could help him, others he’d dig and turn, get out of puff and pick up bits of blanket corner.

In his office bed, especially after lunch, or if it was cold, he’d sit in his bed, then walk to behind my legs and try to “climb up” my legs.  It was is way of asking for a tuck. I’d open the tartan hooded-gilet and wrap it around him in his bed.  He’d fall down as the coat went around him to show which side he wanted the “pillow” (which I’d make by folding the dood, or he’d sometimes lean on Henry the penguin).

If he wasn’t happy, he would stay sitting up, and I’d have to represent the coat to try again. About once a week he’d settle for a minute, sigh, then get up and climb up my leg again for another go.

Especially as he got older, he’d be particular about which sofa or chair he sat on while we watched TV in the evenings. Often he’d have the whole three-seater sofa to himself: his bed on one seat, a fleece or wool blanket on another, and the bare leather at the end.

He’d move between the spots during the evening.  When HE decided it was bedtime (around 21:30) he’d ask to go out, and then when he came back in he’d expect his 1/3 Bonio to be placed on the blanked.  He might nudge it a but, but almost without fail ate it.

In his last few months he’d expect a Mini Markie as well – definitely as well and not instead, even though he’d usually leave the Bonio.

In his last fortnight we moved to a Mini Markie and a Tasty Bite “Chewy Slice”.  He’d not had any Bonio for a couple of weeks – those he did eat were from the sofa around dinnertime if I was cooking something that he wasn’t interested in.

We never talked about “walkies” or “going for a walk”, but instead said “put your coat on”, “get ready – are you READY?!”, or “All aboard!” – Timothy knew that meant we were going out.

When younger he’d get excited, when older he might snort, but always got up and stretched, ready to be compliant with getting into his harness.

If we were going somewhere without him, he’d always be good about it, and sometimes be almost “naughtily good” and climb up to the bay window without being asked. That was his acknowledgement that “I know you’re going out and I’m staying here, that’s OK”.

When Timothy wanted to go outside (for a wee) he’d just patiently wait by the back door, or sometimes the front door.  If we hadn’t noticed that he was waiting, or we were watching TV and asked him to wait, he’d determine that his chosen door wasn’t “working” and would go to the other door. By being good and not making a fuss, by the second time he’d change from one door to the other, we’d feel bad and let him out straight away.

If he URGENTLY needed to go out, it was always to the back garden, and usually because he wanted to eat some leaves. Only particular leaves would do, and he’d eat them until he felt that was enough: usually then being sick.

The leaves couldn’t be too big or old, even from his chosen plants.  If it was raining or cold, I’d bring in a branch or two of approved leaves and put them under the foot of the sofa – he always appreciated that and rarely snubbed them.

If he was actually sick, he always tried to get outside, or as close to the door as possible.

I miss the click-clack of Timothy’s claws on the kitchen floor from when he’s come to see what’s happening, and the more hash tick-tocking of his claws on the more slippery conservatory wood floor.

The sounds were most noticeable after he’d been groomed and had short, “tidy toes”, hair on his paws.

If he tried walking too quickly, or as he god older, more often anyway, his legs would splay and he’d hit the floor.  He always took that in good nature, got up straight away, and carried on.