The Elvis Tribute Show

Elvis (who, despite the name, is a girl) came into my life 8 years ago at the tender age of 5 weeks. She was a teeny tiny ball of fluff that fit into the palm of my hand, and had a fascination for playing with guitar strings. Hence the name.

Now, Elvis didnt answer to her name. Possibly because she realised that this was a ridiculous name for a girl kitty. Possibly because she was just really dumb. It wasnt until she was desexed at 14 months that she recognised that word meant we were referring to HER.


Part Persian (the dumb-ass part), I have always been convinced she was fluffy all the way through. She would look at you as if she'd never seen you before in her life. She would try to chase the sparkles on the floor from our disco balls. All of them. At the same time. We always hoped she would make us a fortune from Funniest Home Videos one day.


She started out life as a black and white kitty, but somehow she was too stupid to stay the same colour and her black fur became bleached from her washing to a really bad dye job orangey red.

I reckon the best thing about that kitty was how contented she was just to be. She would sit and purr loudly to herself, rocking back and forth from her breathing. Zen Kitty.

Last Thursday, Elvis came home at dinner time and collapsed in our dining room. We rushed her to the vet and x-rays showed her lungs filling with fluid of unknown origin. There were no other signs of internal injuries, so we dont know if she had been hit by a car or if she had an infection. Either way, we got a phone call at 7.30am on Friday to say she hadnt made it through the night.

Our stupid fluffy friend has chased her last sparkle, but left so much sparkle in our lives just from being a part of it.

She now rests in her favourite late afternoon spot in our garden, under a tree with fluffy leaves, with a disco ball hanging above her.

Goodbye, sweet Elvis.