Our old boy, Marvin, has seen a lot of our family life - in some ways he's elderly; in human years - 100 - he's our youngest at 18.
We chose Marvin, a British Rex with blue 'highlights' after his predecessor, Choo-boy, died at 17.
Malcolm, our vet who'd landed in Tasmania from Scotland about the same time as us, looked after our cats and dogs and when Choo's time was up, Malcom dropped by home and very gently, with his cooing Scottish accent, put Choo to sleep - as he lay in his favourite sunny spot, near our front door.
Choo had witnessed our first decade in Tasmania - we'd bought him from a pair of sisters at Newnham - he was a handsome chocolate point Siamese - who let our shy, arty daughter carry him, sleep with him on her pillow and occasionally pop him into a doll's dress and push him about in a wicker pram.
He moved with us twice from tiny Duke St into sprawling Bourke St, where he delivered us river rats and tiger snakes.
He saw our girl grow.
He listened to her violin practice, he sat alongside her watching Three Colours, Cinema Paradiso and Amelie, he followed her toddler brother from room to room.
He heard our laughter, he nuzzled us through our struggle years, he consoled us when Grandma Georgie unexpectedly died, and he understood our daughter's deepest, kindest soul.
Quietly that sunny morning, he slipped away to the sound of Malcom's soothing pipes.
Not long after, we brought home a Christmas kitten. This time a bumbling, blue and white fluff ball, Marvin.
Marvin was the runt of his litter and not very smart (thick as two short planks, breeder Sally said).
We have so loved Marvin (thank you Sally) even though his affection is only a very rare, random Marvin 'moment'.
He's seen things he can't unsee - teenagers' sneaky parties, impassioned family arguments, 18th, 21st, 50, 60, countless New Year's parties on our front deck and he tolerated the arrival of 'the dogs' - Noodle and Stella.
This week we took him for a quality-of-life check with a new vet (since Malcom retired).
Marvin's unwell - his back legs keep giving out and he's developed seizures in his front limbs.
If he was a rock star, he'd be Keith Richards.
However, he shakes his head, corrects his gait and continues towards whichever food bowl takes his fancy before sunning himself to sleep in our courtyard.
For two years he's been privileged - sleeping upstairs with us, away from the hurly burly of the poodles and our youngling cat - Lulu.
This is likely his last summer.
Did I tell you; he loves to smell flowers - he will leap onto our kitchen table and sit and sniff whatever bunch and stay put 'till he falls asleep, bewitched.
I made the kids a dodgy calendar for '21 - with images of Marvin for all 12 months - he's mostly asleep and the pics are randomly in focus.
He is after all, Marvin, international man of mystery.
His low-to-the-ground slink a total juxtaposition to his dense, stoned persona. If he was a rock star, he'd be Keith Richards.
His favourite summer place ever is in front of the air conditioner pump, blasting hot air as it cools down the inside. WTF?
His coat is dense, really?
This week the vet ordered blood tests and all going well, she will hopefully be able remove some of his rotten teeth and we will bring him home for long sunny days and bottomless bowls of his special 'Marvin's Marvellous Mince'.
Now, as it's about to rain on a quiet afternoon, I try to imagine missing Marvin.
It's too hard.
I guess, instead we will remember Marvin and make the most of another summer.