Did I mention being a crazy cat lady? Meet my kids...
This is Precious. Her motto: I don't need no stinkin' eyes! If there is a new room to be explored or a new object to scale, Precious leads the way. She was blinded by a kittenhood URI, and her eyes kept getting infected. Finally the vet removed them when she was spayed, and Precious has been unstoppable ever since. She is quick to purr, and loves to be scratched and petted.
This is Roland. He's very special. For more about him see Roland's Page. http://www.freewebs.com/tilone/rolandspage.htm
This is Buffy. Buffy is quite the princess and my baby girl. She likes to cuddle and take long naps with her humans. Toys are also high on her list of good things, as are soft beds and - oh yes - dinner.
This is Loophole, one of my oldest kitties. She is quiet and sweet. She was formerly a lab cat at a tech school, and I was lucky enough to be able to adopt her after the students were done learning to clean ears and clip nails.
This is Tilone, AKA My Main Guy Ti. He was number 32 when I brought him home in 1994, and Mike greeted him with "His name is Tilone Tinaj. That's It. Last One. Nothing Else. This Is Not A Joke!" (Turned out he was joking.)
This is Spike. He was born in the bison shed at the Queens Zoo. Spike is a very big boy, and incredibly handsome. He's also a wild child who plays like a maniac.
This is Little Moo. Another Queens Zoo souvenir. My niece Rosie was visiting when we were trying to figure out what to call this little white and black kitten. Rosie said that she looked like a dairy cow and that we should call her Little Moo. The name stuck, though I usually greet her as Moo-Da-Boo. (No doubt cementing your opinion that yes, Kimm is a crazy cat lady.)
This is Spyder Bug. She's a scardey cat, but very sweet and purrsome. In our old house she took up residence in the basement between the foundation and the drywall and wouldn't come out. It took us over a month to finally trap her, we were almost at the point of ripping out all the drywall. I used to leave her food and water up in the drop ceiling, and I don't even want to think about what she was doing for a litter box.
It's TIMMY!! My bestest friend, Marie, rooked me into taking this little beast. In spite of being an escape artist and general alarmist, Timmy has got loads (and loads) of personality. He loves to play and he's always the first cat to let us know if dinner is behind schedule.
Boodah. Fished out of the trash as a newborn, she never quite developed normal social skills. She's lived with other cats for 14 years and still has no clue how to relate to them. Boodah likes to eat, and is very good at catching that elusive fishing pole toy.
Fledermaus, AKA Pissy. And yes, she certainly is! I've had this cat for 16 years and it's only in the last year that I've been able to touch her without getting bitten or scratched for my trouble. I bought a cat bag and muzzle just so I could do her vaccinations and nail trimming. Thanks to Pissy, I became a kickass cat wrangler.
I'm not the only crazy cat lady. Really, I'm not!
While my cats live in a state I like to call benign neglect Marie's kitties are pampered with almost hedonistic luxury. I used to love cat sitting for them, except that I was always terrified I'd screw something up and cause irreparable subatomic decay to their diet and medication routine. Luckily the Huntress was WAY too anal for that.
And while I was on duty, no zombies dared venture near.
This is Leo, who never-ever-ever holds still!
This is Leo's sister Mazy, his constant little shadow.
Much loved, and much missed.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
Mary Frye (1932)
It all started with Sharky. He of the greying muzzle, mismatched ears and unconditional love. Even the usually eloquent Zombie Huntress fails at the task of putting my feelings for Sharky into words. Later Silky came along, giving our home twice the tail wags - and triple the combing.
For such a dainty and fragile little soul, Leah had the concept of being pushy down to an exact science. My theory about Leah is that before coming to live with Marie she made her living targeting zombies, as befits such a magical and mystical little creature. How else to explain the strong bond she and the Zombie Huntress always shared? Leah was my friend, and I miss her very much.
Daisy May - or may not. Marie called her The Petunia, what I called her was unprintable as I wormed my way between the springs of the trundle bed to extract her for medication time. After nearly a decade of this standoff, Marie finally let me in on the big secret: Get the comb out and Daisy would come running. The last few times I babysat, Daisy greeted me with purrs, and once I even got a head bump! Was it the comb, or did she know I was moving and felt compelled to share the joy?
My Main Man Mr. Myron, the Clown Prince. Myron loved to supervise, and found every closet irresistable. He spent a large chunk of his kittenhood in a body cast to correct a birth defect. It left him with a real instinct for mischief and a better sense of humor than most humans I know.
Before there was Myron, there was Raistlin, the One-Eyed Wonder, who Mike always referred to as the AntiChrist. (Raistlin was not the most calm and sedate of kittens.) Really, though, he was just a sweet little boy. Really.
Ratt was a tall and lanky beauty who loved shoulder rides. Her habit of suddenly landing on an unsuspecting shoulder in a pitch dark room proved to be good training for a future Zombie Huntress. I'm just surprised she never scared me to death.
Wiley was born with her 'wrists' and paws fused at right angles to her legs, giving her the appearance of having flippers. She was sweet and empathic, the first cat on my lap if I felt blue and needed to be purred at. Always a tiny thing, she had the most beautiful green eyes and the worlds loudest purr.
Bandit was a grumpy-looking old cat, but his good nature and laid-back disposition belied his frowney face. He was 11 years old when we got him, and lived for another six years. I like to think his retirement was a happy one.
Bob was a clown. He was mildly cerebellar, and had a habit of getting lost in the bathtub. He'd stand in the tub, facing the corner and yelling until Mike or I went in and turned him around. His relief at being shown the way back to the rest of the house was so great one could almost taste it.
Poor little Remo. Christened with a very cool name, she spent her life listening to her mother call her 'Lambie Pie'. She was sweet and affectionate, as well as tiny, with the daintiest paws in the world. She enjoyed the company of her people, and as a kitten accompanied us on a road trip to Disney World. She and Dumpling had a ball riding in the car and gazing out of the windows.
We adopted Tripod from North Shore Animal League. We were looking for a kitten, but we felt so sorry for this poor three-legged cat because she was so terrified by all the noise and people and confusion that we decided to take her home. She was probably about four years old then, give or take. When we got her home, she promptly disappeared upstairs, where she hid behind the attic bookshelves for weeks. Mike would go up there and just sit every night, reading aloud and giving her cat treats. She was his friend for the next 15 years.
I had been longing for a calico cat, and when I heard about the heart murmur kitten that desperately needed a home I jumped at the chance to adopt her. Scaramousch turned out to be a purrsome delight, always ready with the snuggles and the happy feet. Whenever I'd say Score-A-Smooch she'd come running and give me real kittie smooches.
Captain used to spend hours jumping in place, attacking an invisible spot on the wall about four feet from the floor. We never could figure out what she saw there, but none of the other cats were bothered by it. She stopped the wall jumping after we moved out of that apartment.
Coco was our first handicapped cat, and the first of many 'North Shore Specials' to enrich my life. She was a sweet and pretty little deaf kitty. She was really Mike's cat, she picked him as her person right in the animal shelter and loved him her whole life.
We always called Falcor our 'Liddle Kittie'. She was cerebellar, but it never slowed her down much. There's something about Mike and white cats, Falcor was pretty close to her daddy as well.
Our first cat was a big old tomcat named Freebase. Yeah, we were party animals back then. He was the first cat I had ever owned, and I was amazed at how mellow and affectionate he turned out to be. I'd originally gotten a cat because I figured I wouldn't get as attached as I had to my childhood dog - Freebie taught me otherwise.
Hashish was our first kitten. I called her 'kitten' every day of the 20 years we had her. She was a real split personality type of cat who would alternate between outgoing and in-your-face to fleeing at the first hint of the nail clipper coming out. Hmmmm... maybe she was just a sweet cat who was very, very smart.
The third cat - and second kitten - we ever got was Reefer. I bet you're sensing a theme with the whole controlled substance thing. Reef had a real affinity for all things flora in origin, a bag of carrots would send her rolling on the floor in ecstasy. If I fell asleep on the couch she'd curl up around my head like a big tabby ear muff.
Houdini was the first bottle baby I ever raised. I'd say she learned to eat on her own fairly well, wouldn't you? She was an amazing escape artist... guess you figured that out for yourself, huh? She was also a bit of a miracle kitten, one of the worst URI/eye infections I had ever seen left her with clear, beautiful eyes and perfect vision.
One night Mike and I came home from dinner, and there was this gorgeous cat just sitting on our doorstep waiting to be invited in. So we did. Tatterdemalion was Mike's special girl for well over a decade. She loved to lounge in the windows but showed no inclination to try escaping from the house. I guess she figured "Been there, done that". She was one of the dozen cats who made the trek to Ohio with us, and she loved the view from her window.
This is Beaujangles. He was a shunt kitty who required twice a day medication and a special diet. Unfortunately for me - and everybody who ever catsit for our family - he was less than thrilled with his twice a day medication time. Friends and family alike dubbed him the Elusive One. Still, he was a sweet and gentle boy with ready kisses and a lovely purr. And, thanks to him, I got a brand new dishwasher! Go Jingles!
Kitt was a nose biter, always ready to pounce on an unsuspecting proboscis. She was also sweet and gentle, and quick to snuggle and purr. She loved to play, this picture of her is a ratity because she is not chewing and attempting to swallow some forbidden object. When Kitt did not like something - like vaccinations - she would transform from tiny darling into raging Siberian tiger. As soon as she had gotten her way, the sweetheart would return as if the tiger had never existed.
Clyde was an incredibly handsome boy, a light cream-colored wonder of a cat. He was also easily wounded by the world and needed to be sheltered and kept safe. A true terror when he wanted to be, Clyde was also a hugger, who loved to fall asleep sucking on the neck of my shirt while cradled in my arms. He came to our home terrified of everything, after a few days he was my special buddy.
This was Weebles. She was the most severely cerebellar cat I ever had. She couldn't walk, sit or lie in a sternal position. Weebles spent her life in her cuddle bed and when she wanted to get from point A to point B she sort of swam along on her side. But boy, the Weebs had personality! She lived for about 7 years, and I think she enjoyed every one of them.
Weebles' constant companion for her whole life was Sidewinder. Sid was also severly cerebellar, not quite as bad as Weebles, but not as mild as Timmy or Spirit either. Sid was with us for 14 years, and she came along when we moved to Ohio. Sid loved her cuddle bed and she loved Weebles, but most of all she loved dinner. Sid was a rather plump cat. She was also a very beautiful muted torti, with the complete torti attitude.
Scooter always had the most worried expression on his face, like a fussy little old man. My vet always called him the one-lung wonder, a bout of kittenhood pneumonia left the other mostly useless due to scarring. Never stopped Scooter from playing like a madman and being first in the chow line. He was the runt of a litter I had fostered, and it was a long and hard battle to keep him alive. Naturally, when the rest of the kittens went up for adoption, Scooter stayed with us.
Sixpack was the first pectus kitten I'd ever seen. She spent six weeks of her kittenhood in a body brace that made her look like a six pack of beer. She grew up to be incredibly gorgeous as well as sweet and quick with the kisses. she had the most amazingly thick fur I've ever encountered. In her later years she got rather cranky about combing and brushing, so I started 'poodle clipping' her twice a year. Come to think of it, she was sort of cranky about that, too.
Logan was our first longhaired cat, with a sweet nature and a huge squirrel tail. She felt it was her sacred duty to mother every kitten that entered the house. I was in my first semester of tech school when we adopted her - yep, another North Shore Special. She grew up to be very petite and very beautiful.
We had Panama Red for 20 years, but they passed in an eyeblink. There are no words to describe just how special he was. He was tall and lean, with the most incredible orange eyes. He loved to sit on or near his humans, and he was incredibly tolerant of kitten capers, even when he was an old, old man. He was the first sickly kitten I'd ever had, and it was Panama Red who guided me into what eventually became my career.
Magnum, AKA The Dumpling, cruising with Mike. She loved car rides and walking on her leash. Highlight of her day: peeing in the grass at a rest stop. Dumps traveled all over the country with us, until she got older and stopped enjoying car rides and leash walking. Her eyes were a constant issue until the vet finally removed them. After the surgery, she went from being a sickly little thing to a sleek (if somewhat plump) and healthy beauty.
Spirit. The incredibly cute prancing kitten. Spirit is one of the two cats in my life who took the largest pieces of my heart when they left me. At two weeks old she and her mom and four siblings survived a fire that left them homeless. I took the cats in, and all five of them promptly came down with Panleuke, proving once and for all that no good deed goes unpunished. One of Spirit's brothers died, and Spirit came very close to dying herself. I walked the floor cradling her in my hands and singing Springsteen's "Spirits in the Night" to her. After she recovered, she was subject to recurring bouts of pneumonia, thanks to the lung damage she had sustained in the fire. She was only two years old when the pneumonia finally took her. I have hardly any pictures of her, but this one is framed and resides on the wall of my study.
Friday the 13th. Always and forever my Crusty beast. This is where that other large chunk of my heart went, Crusty took it with her. When I got her, the vets told me that I'd be lucky if she lived a year. She ended up being with me for 11 years of three times a day medications, special diet and almost constant care. Through it all she was the sweetest cat I have ever known. Even when she was nearly flat out and we were putting IV's into her and forcing medications down her throat her purr was constant and all four feet would wave lazily in the are as she made 'happy feet' for us. Probably the homeliest cat that ever lived, she had a beauty of soul that shown out of her big golden eyes and warmed everybody that knew her.
The Rainbow Bridge
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here,
that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor.
Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again,
just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing;
they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together,
but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance.
His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group,
flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet,
you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again.
The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head,
and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet,
so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....
Author Unknown