Farewell, My Lovely

I first saw her almost eleven years ago, in the late summer of 1999. She was pretty much just an itty bitty kitten then, and I didn't spend too much time pondering what kind of personality she would develop. She was just a cute ball of fluff at that point.

My eldest sister, Thing One, acquired this precious little purrball through an acquaintance of her roommate's. She named the purrball Inky-dinky-doo, or Enkidu, or something...but both names were soon banished for the more reasonable handle of Inkers.

If ever a pet and her owner developed the same personality, it was my sister and Inkers. Both were dainty, mischevious, persnickety little misses. Both liked to be left alone, but were deeply affectionate to the people who they knew and loved.

In 2002, Thing One had to live with our mother, the Original Crazy Cat Lady™ and her numerous feline companions. Inkers didn't thrive well in this environment (I don't think Thing One did, either). I had just acquired my very own apartment (complete with live-in-boyfriend John the Saint), so took in Inkers as well as one other kitty, a little orange guy named Trotsky. Thing One brought them to us one Saturday in September of 2002. Both Inkers and Trotsky had yowled all the way from Daytona to Tampa, and quickly slunk out of the carriers and contorted their little feline bodies into very flat, oozy positions (think Choo-Choo Bear) and scooched under the futon.

Inkers came out soon enough, eager for exploration, and Trotsky followed soon after. (Trotsky quickly managed to venture too close to a lit candle and so scorched his whiskers, causing them to curl in a delightfully French dandy fashion). Inkers approached the couch where Thing One and I sat, settled back on her haunches, looked up at us, and meowed frantically.

"She does that a lot," Thing One said informed me. "She's trying to tell us that someone needs saving." To Inkers, she merely said, "Where's Timmy, Inkers? Is he stuck down a well? Take us to Timmy!"

John the Saint was unimpressed with Inkers' neurotic, prissy, sometimes fickle ways, but I simply loved her for them. Every night, she would gently paw her way across the bed and settle on me. If I slept on my back, she would sleep on my chest or stomach or, only very occasionally, between my legs. (Shush, you.) If I slept on my side, she would sleep on the dip of my body, between my ribcage and my hipbone. If I slept on my stomach, she would sleep on my butt or the small of my back. She was constant.

My life in Tampa came to an end a little more than a year later. By the end of 2003, I was graduating and moving back to the grandparents' home in Daytona, where I would bide my time for 8 months before moving to Indiana. John and I had broken up, amiably and sadly, and were now in the process of breaking up our home. It was time for Inkers to be returned to her real mother, Thing One. And so we packed her into the carrier, and she yowled her way from Tampa to Daytona. All of the changes made me yowl a little, too.

A few months later, Inkers yowled her way from Daytona all the way up to New Jersey. There she and Thing One settled for what everyone wanted to be happily ever after. Thing One worked hard in New Jersey to support Inkers in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. For years Inkers kept Thing One company, cooing and meowing and purring and occasionally shedding on the pile of clean, warm, folded laundry Thing One set out for her each Laundry Day.

This year, Inkers turned 11. To me--to all the people in our family, who are used to cats living a long, long time--that was young. But Inkers' body had other ideas, and Thing One had to let Inkers leave this plane of existence last week. I found out during the honeymoon and proceeded to cry my way through a good portion of the evening. Little Inkers was my cat for a little over a year, and so Thing One and I have been sharing our grief. Thing One feels the loss more greatly, naturally, but nonetheless, we both get choked up still when our persnickety little Miss Inkers comes up in conversation.

She's still around, though. Thing One still feels her, gently pussy-footing her way over her blanketed body at night.

I hope Inkers swings by to pay me a visit, too. Until then, all I can say is, we miss her. And we were so lucky to have her.

Please, go and hug your cat or dog or emu or hamster or whatever you have. And if you don't have a pet...please go out and get one. They make life so much more beautiful, even in death.