Last night I said goodbye to one of my best friends - my
handsome, sleek and sexy, lovable, bedtime buddy, Stinkie. Growing up I had so many cats that I got to
the point that I was desensitized to their passing, but Stinkie is
different. Stinkie was mine (or I was his).
We had our routines like everyone does and those are what I
am going to miss the most. In fact, some
he hasn't done for months but it seems like just the other day he was doing them.
Mornings were...interesting.
He was definitely a morning cat.
He knew that I was not and usually let me sleep but once I started to
stir, he encouraged the "wake-up" process. He would sit on my nightstand and nibble my
fingers. Not hard, but just enough to
say, "Hey you! It's time to get
up." He would butt heads with me or
pet himself with my outstretch hand.
Then if I still didn't get up he would wait it out by "holding me
down." He would lay on my side, his
paws out stretched across my rump, his body following the curve of my
body. I don't know how many pictures Kevin
has of him doing that but know we have plenty.
For a while, he thought that after I got out of the shower
he needed to reapply fur to my wet legs but more commonly would wait until I
started to brush my teeth to pester me.
He would sit on the closed toilet seat, reach out with his claw to grab
my hand just to get some of my love and attention. He wasn't mean or rough but he would just let
you know he was there. Sometimes he
would even stretch up like a dog with his paws on my legs.
When I finally would make it to the kitchen sometimes I
would find little slips of paper like business cards or a receipt in the food
or water dish. That was Stinkie's
calling card. I don't know what it was
supposed to signify but it was just one of his little quirks. Frequently those slips of paper were
originally on the shelf above our stove or off the coffee table. We would also find strange things such as
unused feminine pads or used q-tips there too.
It got to the point that that was "normal" but our pet sitter
would frequently say, "Where does he find this stuff?"
Stinker was not always well behaved. He would chase one of the other cats or do
something he wasn't supposed to and I would scold him - typically telling him
to "go lay down." He would
slouch down and crawl away chattering or "talking" back. I always thought of him as saying "I
didn't do it" or "Sorry, Mom, I didn't mean too."
During the day he really didn't do much other than
sleep. But don't most cats? You'd find him sleeping on our bed, in a window or the
back of the couch but most recently he would be curled up in the curve of my
orange couch. He wasn't one for
snuggling unless you were in bed which was fine for me so I think our bedtime
routine is what I will miss the most.
While Kevin and I watched TV he knew that my
"routine" was to go to bed around midnight. When it was time he would stare at me from
the hallway telling me it was time to go.
He wouldn't meow but just stare.
The routine carried on from there.
If I didn't do the typical routine of take my meds, brush my teeth, go
to the bathroom, then off to bed, he wouldn't come to bed. He would just sit in the doorway and
wait. Once I climbed into bed, he would
stretch up and dig his claws into the top of my nightstand. When he started doing that I scolded him, but
now I am glad he did. I now have a little something to remember him by.
The silly cat loved to butt heads with me, nibble on my
fingers (or Kevin's) and when his bedtime "playtime" was over he
would curl up on his purple pillow and go to sleep. Believe me the pillow was not an intentional
thing, it just happened and it stayed.
He was like a king on his throne.
Stink was and will always be "my pretty boy." His slick black and white fur made him one
handsome devil. Top that off with his
red collar and his suave demeanor and he was ready for the party. Not that he was a party cat, but he was
dressed for one.
Although I will no longer be able to snuggle with him at
night or enjoy his company while I take a bath, he gave me and my family many
memories. Thanks for nine wonderful
years, Stinker-doo! I love you!
