Twinkle was a fierce soul who was welcomed by the Earth Mother and his beloved Netta on Friday. His passage was unexpected and has left huge holes in the hearts of his chosen family-- his human mum and dad, his dog Blondie, and his feline companion Bramble.
Twinkle's story started about six and a half years ago. He was a mostly orange and red kitty born to a tuxedo kitty. He was one of four siblings. His one sister was also a tux. His two brothers were mostly orange and red like he was.
Blondie (the dog) and I were walking down a street. We were presented with the sight of two orange and white kittens tussling near a parked jeep and a tuxedo kitten asleep underneath some bushes. One of the orange and white kittens ran over to inspect the dog, having never seen one before in his young life. Blondie, for her part, was taken aback by a bold young one but responded graciously by allowing him to inspect her.
"Oh what cute kittens!" I exclaimed to the woman in the driveway. "Want one?" she said, "They're going to the pound in an hour." I picked up the kitten who was still busy with my dog. "I'll take this one," I said. The other orange kitten outside was a bit shy and hid behind the car wheel. The woman told me there was a third orange kitten inside who didn't seem to like people very much.
By time we had gotten home, I had named the kitten Twinkle. He explored his new home boldly and without caution or hesitation. Within the hour, he had settled in with the confidence that would mark his life. Twinkle had no fear.
Twinkle persisted and made friends with the two older cats. It was Netta, a ragdoll mix and a tortie shell, who taught him how to mouse. I can still hear his baby squeals as the two of them ran up from the cellar with the dead prize in Netta's mouth. She put the mouse at my feet and I rewarded them with a bowl of milk, an infrequent treat. When Netta died, Twinkle mourned but still had our older cat Bramble. Bramble also mourned but he still had Twinkle.
Twinkle and Bramble ran up and down stairs together, wrestled together, took naps together, even shared favorite spots together. He played with the dog often. He was also gifted with a strong stocky physique. Whether stalking the frogs in one of the tanks, watching the crickets in the cricket keeper-- we called this "kitty teevee"-- attempting to eat the dog's food in front of the dog, picking out a toy from the dog's toybox that he wanted to play with, or reaching into a drawer in order to toss something out, he approached his world without any hesitation. He knew exactly what he wanted at all times. And we did too.
If Twinkle was chattering at birds outside the sunporch window, it was the crows he lusted after rather than the sparrows. Twinkle had no fear. He walked all over the clipboard of the cable guy while his older chosen brother cat ran off to hide until the evil stranger had left the grounds. Twinkle recognized the doorbell. Just like a trained dog would, he ran to get us whenever it rang.
Twinkle was a gifted communicator. He was dominant over the older cat who did not seem to mind. When Twinkle thought there was not enough food in the cat dish, it was the older cat who ran to get me as Twinkle stood impatiently near the food dish. When the dog and I returned from our adventures in the woods, Twinkle was there to greet us as we returned. He often sniffed the dog's paws. I imagined this to be his way of sniffing out what we had done, what interesting smells the dog had picked up. One time, after a particularly smelly encounter with something in the woods, Twinkle sniffed at the dog's paws and immediately walked away in what looked to me like disgust. His temper was on display frequently at the vet clinic. He fought us when it was time to put him into the cat carrier and clung fiercely to the back of it when it was time for his examination.
I have many memories of Twinkle. Twinkle and Bramble in the bathtub full of soapy water, along with Blondie. The two cats were always better about having a bath than Blondie. They would let me soap them up and rinse them off. Blondie is a squirmer and although part golden retriever, is much more difficult to this day to bathe. Bramble will lay down in the bathwater even now to watch it drain. Twinkle liked to play with bath bubbles, sitting on the edge and batting them around with his tail. One time when he was very young, he fell in. He cried out in surprise-- which set the dog and the other two cats to charging into the bathroom to rescue their kitten-- and immediately began swimming toward the edge of the tub. I fished him out and he disappeared for a half-hour until he was dry and had groomed himself to his satisfaction. The two cats were always better about having their nails clipped than the dog was. Twinkle quickly learned to extend his paw, making his fast-growing nails easier to trim. Twinkle was fascinated by drawers, wanting to climb into them or to fish something out of them. Twinkle used to swing his paw at my dad in mock battles, he took playful swipes at my head when he was sitting on top of the easy chair, and would place one of his rear paws in my hand to hold when he was feeling a need for a bit of reassurance.
Thursday, Twinkle spent a very long time watching the firebellies and the little green tree frogs in their tank. He was content. Thursday night, he crept into bed with us in the middle of the night for the last time.
After running some tests, the vet determined that Twinkle was very ill. There was nothing I could humanely do to keep him alive and so I made the decision to have him put down. Twinkle was suffering. Medically, there was no hope. If I had chosen to keep him alive, he would spiral downward-- even with the uncomfortable treatments the disease would have required-- and death could come at any time. Out of love, I signed the papers.
Twinkle and I visited together for the last time. I cuddled him in the colorful Indian blanket that someone had provided for him in the office. When I was ready, the vet and the assistant came in. Twinkle put one of his rear paws in my hand for the last time. The vet shaved one of his front paws and plunged the needle in that would relieve his suffering. The assistant was openly crying. When Twinkle winced briefly, the vet encouraged him to look at me. I scritched him under his chin and held his gaze. I watched his life fade and his spirit gain release.
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