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| Name: |
Twink
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Age: |
Eight years old
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| Gender: |
Female
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Kind: |
Long-haired Cat
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| Home: |
Lockhart, Alabama, USA
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Introducing Twink, she of the disdainful look and haughty stare. Who shares our home and hearth, nay, not share- rules this house. I wonder what I did in another life that I must need to be a servant to a 20-pound furry tyrant. But do not think it is me alone in this treatment. I saw a fully armed law enforcement officer come into this house and do a double take when he saw Twink sitting sphinx-like in the shadows. The poor fellow kept his hand on his firearm the whole time he was here. I have kin that are terrified of her. Yet she has never offered to hurt any of them. It is just that look she gives them as in, "I know where you live."
She has only been outside three times since we got her. Please do not think I keep her prisoner. She regards fresh air, grass and sunshine as things to be avoided at all cost. Last year, the Boo and sons added a screened in back porch, supposedly for me ... guess who uses it most. Twink lies upon her padded throne (MY papasan chair that I found while antiquing and brought home with great difficulty) as she surveys the world through hooded eyes, mocking the others cats who are so unlucky not to be her.
She is supposed to be fed only twice a day and yet has a food bill that would feed an sumo wrestler. We have bought expensive beds, scratching post and cat trees, but she prefers to sleep in the day on the love seat she is not allowed on, would rather use my ottoman to hone her nails on and climb up and over mantels and book cases. Unlike more mellow pets, the foot of the bed is not her choice for sleeping. No, she must lie smack dab between our pillows and stretch out to her full length side-wise. Now with a kitten, this habit is of no consequence, but Twink stretched out is over three feet long. That does not leave the Boo and me much more room than to lie on our sides with shoulder blade and a fanny cheek to try and balance on. I have wakened thinking it must be about 3 a.m., only to find that the complete darkness is caused by a massive furry tush and tail covering my vision.
Poor ol' Boo gets stomped on every morning to inform him it is time to get up and feed the cat. Twink even supervises the cleaning of her litter box each morning, so as to have a sparkling clean setting for her... well, you get my drift. Then she strolls leisurely back to bed to begin the morning sport of aggravating the female slave until said slave gets up in disgust, at which time, Twink can then have the whole bed to herself.
Cats are suppose to be dainty, fastidious creatures, constantly grooming, dining with the grace of a prima donna. Twink would have no trouble fitting in with the most drunken of frat boys. She will not eat out of her expensive food bowls. She drags the food into the middle of the kitchen floor to eat. But if we try to feed her elsewhere, she refuses - with Twink it is her way or no way. Boo is her courtier, he carries her around like a baby, sneaks her treats and generally turns a blind eye to her antics. I, too, pander to her vanity, even as I snarl back at her.
Some people think we are crazy to indulge this cat the way we do. I write often about her aggravating ways. People who have met her, make the sign of the cross, spit over their left shoulders, backing away slowly, never, ever turning their back on Twink.
But here is the crux of the matter: she is perfect for us. I think all things happen for a reason. She is here because it is where she is suppose to be. There have been so many times when I have been sad, lonely, sometimes in despair and she will come up in my lap, lean forward until her nose touches mine, eyes looking into eyes, sometimes reaching up with a paw to touch my cheek and whatever feeling I am struggling with, eases, if only for a moment. Then she will curl up in my lap and purr. A cat's purring is one of the most peaceful sounds in the world. For even though she and I live a daily battle of wits, her love for me is unconditional, as mine is for her.
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