Ali is twelve. We got her as a tiny kitten and at first she lived upstairs – mainly under the bed, except when she emerged to play.
She is incredibly neat, always neatly arranged and compact. She does not appear to jump, but simply arrives wherever she intends to be, very neatly and without clambering or over-shooting. In the last few weeks as she has become weaker, she does less, but she still arrives beautifully. She is now quite weak and not much more than skin and bone, but is clearly in no pain, eating well (partly to feed the tumour, sadly) and comes to purr on our laps. Her calmness was the saving of our old cat Seamus, who died last year and was somewhat neurotic until she arrived.
She has always played gently, and particularly loves playing between the banisters on the landing. She is also a good hunter but has an unfortunate liking for playing with slow worms, which does not lengthen their lives even though she seems only to play with them – cat teeth make holes in slow worms if they wriggle!