Slinky cat passed away a week ago. Her passage toward demise was swift — she seemed to be quite piglett-like around Christmas time, then within three weeks had lost almost half her body weight. We didn’t notice the rapid weight loss since she was the fluffiest cat ever to walk the earth. Layer upon layer of thick black fur.
Slinky was adopted a few months after my second miscarriage and the death of the illustrious Morticia cat. My husband and I were completely traumatized, and that rabbit hopping, one white whiskered cat at the pound seemed ethereal in her fluffiness. She was insanely attached to me for a year or so, then I became a mother to twins and couldn’t deal with having her so jealous of the babies and still so desperate for my attention. I fear she became less than she deserved to be for a while. I’m so sorry about that.
Luckily, she and my husband bonded as I jumped ass-first into motherhood. She was totally in love with him. Slinky greeted him at the door when he came home at night, walked him upstairs to change clothes, sat on his lap. She never clawed furniture or ever went to the bathroom where she shouldn’t have (unlike some cats I know, Olive).
That cat loved to be warm and would crawl obsessively underneath our covers while we watched TV. Slinky was definitely an important member of the family. I miss her freaky squeaky meows and seemingly senseless howling in hallways in the evenings. Au revoir, Slinks. Safe passage over the sacred cat river to the other side.