Starr was a foundling. She was initially adopted by a friend of mine, but after sometime he determined that he wasn't really a "cat person". So, instead of having him take her to the local Humane Society, I asked that I be able to adopt her. I officially became her "Meowmie" on February 3, 1991. Starr was, what I'd like to refer to as, the perfect cat. She was beautiful and loving, playful and affectionate. We grew very close and were inseparable. Many times she saved my life. In the fall of 1992, I became very ill with a bad strain of the flu. I came home from work with a bad case of the chills. I couldn't get warm no matter how hard I tried. I piled every blanket and winter coat I had on top of me, but still couldn't warm up. Starr was watching me apprehensively from the corner of the room. I looked at her and said "I can't get warm, Starr". She quietly walked over the bed, jumped up and got under the covers with me. She purred so gently that I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was very warm, and Starr was still with me. It took over a week before I was able to go back to work, but Starr was always with me, watching over me like a mother hen. Another time, I had been burning candles in my living room in the evening. They were two votive candles in proper candle holders and they were sitting on top of my TV. Well, I went to bed that night and totally forgot about them. Around 4AM, Starr was frantically banging on my bedroom door. When I got up and opened the door (to tell her to stop bugging me), I could see and smell that the entire house was filled with an acrid smoke. I ran downstairs and into the living room. One of the candles was still burning okay on top of the TV. But one was missing. I ran into the kitchen to get a fire extinguisher and came back to the living room to find the other candle. It seems as though the candle holder exploded and the candle continued to burn, melting a hole into the top of my television. I looked inside the hole and could see that the fire was out. *phew* If it wasn't for Starr my whole house could've gone up in flames. Unfortunately, I lost Starr in 1997. When she became ill with a respiratory problem, I couldn't save her. She's gone over to the Rainbow Bridge and is probably patiently waiting for me. I miss her so much, I almost can't wait until I see her again.
Squeak
09/15/92 - 10/08/94
Squeak was my little boy. The only thing is, is that when I went to adopt him from the Humane Society, I thought I was adopting a pretty white female playmate for Starr. When I brought Squeak home, I was playing with him in my bedroom. I turned him onto his back so that I could scritch his tummy and noticed "extra bits" between his legs. "Hey, you're not a girl" ... He looked at me kind of puzzled as if that was supposed to mean something to him. I honestly debated taking him back to the Humane Society because I wanted a girl, but thought better of it. He was so cute, and he fell asleep in my arms on this first night home. I had him fixed and tattooed when the appropriate time came. He and Starr became fast friends. The loved playing with each other and I could hear thundering "hooves" every evening as the ran around the house. Although Starr was content to be a house cat, Squeak preferred the great outdoors. One day while I was home from work sick, I let Squeak, Starr and Kinki outside, knowing that winter was just around the corner and that they wouldn't have many opportunities to go out after this. In the late afternoon, I called for the three of them to come back inside. Starr and Kinki came promptly, but no Squeak. I waited until late in the evening and he still didn't return. Kinki and I went for a walk to look for him, but could not him. I phoned the Humane Society and Dead Animal Pick-Up, but neither of them had a cat with Squeak's description. I started a poster campaign and delivered flyers with Squeak's picture on it to every house in the neighbourhood. The next day, I receive two phone calls from my neighbours. They both saw a cat matching Squeak's description, lying in the backlane, apparently hit by a car. I called Dead Animal Pick-Up back to see if they had Squeak, this time giving them his tattoo number. And they said they didn't have any white male cats, but there was a white female cat with that tattoo number. I was devastated, but so glad that I didn't find him when I was searching for him. I dont' know if I could've handled seeing one of my babies lying hurt on the road. He started this life with everyone thinking he was a girl, and left this life in the same way. I miss my little boy.
Kinki
09/15/93 -
I wasn't looking to get another cat. After all, I already had two wonderful cats at home. I remember the day that Kinki found me. The local Humane Society had asked the general public for donations of pablum because they had been overrun with kittens and puppies and needed as many supplies as they could get. I had been grocery shopping and decided to get the H.S. a box of pablum. When I arrive there were many people waiting in line to drop off supplies or to adopt animals. While I was waiting, I went into the "cat room" to visit with all the kits. As I walked by one kennel, this little white paw came out and touched me on the nose. And there she was, the cutest little calico you'd ever seen. She was only 4 or 5 weeks old, and apparently hadn't been fed very well. I took her out of the kennel (promptly getting scolded by one of the H.S. workers "You're not supposed to do that yourself!") and took her home with me. The next day, I was watching her sleep on the arm chair in the living room and I noticed a little black thing move around her eye. "UH-OH! She has fleas!" I had planned to have a Grey Cup Football party that day, and my guests were going to start arriving in 3 hours and I still had to start cooking dinner! ... I was panicked. My roommate was out, so he wouldn't have been any help. I called my sister in tears, explaining that I had to give all three cats a bath, strip the sheets of the beds and launder them, vacuum the living room to pick up more fleas, and still cook dinner and all in 3 hours! She said not to worry. I went upstairs with the cats and first gave Kinki her bath, then Squeak, then Starr. By the time I was done, my arms and shoulders were like hamburger and I was just a basketcase. I was walking up the stairs and was about to turn into the bathroom, I looked over my shoulder into my roommate's bedroom, and poor Kinki was sitting there, wet, cold, and shivering. She was so tiny, and so scared my heart went out to her. I grabbed a fuzzy towel, picked her up and cradled her for a while. My sister arrived and looked after the laundry. I vacuumed and cooked and my guests arrived on schedule. I was exhausted, but happy to see that Kinki became the life of the party. Babies do that to people. While Kinki and I were alone, we caught up on our bonding and have been growing closer.
Pookie
09/15/97 -
"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" (W. Shakespeare)
Kinki and I were alone for a few months after Starr had passed on. In the beginning, I concentrated on becoming closer to Kinki. But, even with my added attention, she was so lonely. I played with her as often as I could, and she even started sleeping in my bed with me. Something she had never done in the past. I could see she was bored, as she often spent 12 hours a day alone, plus another 6 while I was sleeping. That only gave her 6 hours of companionship, and I must say, I wasn't as attentive as I could've been. I also felt Starr's loss really hard, and yearned to hear the pitter-patter of little kitty-cat feet again. In November of 1997, I went to a local "no kill" shelter called "Kitten Kaboodle" run by a group called Quagga and adopted an 8 week old grey white and black male tabby. They named him "Tommy", but I thought that that was too cliche, to call a male cat Tom. I spent many days trying to determine what this kitten's name would be. I went through several variations. I first thought "Gee, he sure is a cuddly little bear isn't he?", so his name became "Bear" for a while. But it didn't seem to fit him. He also had a little, uhm, problem ... he often passed gas, leaving his aromatic trace in the house. So I started calling him Pooh Bear. My brother, Marc, suggested that I might want to call him "Toot" ... I thought that was hilarious, but none of these names suited the little guy. Then I decided to call him Winnie the Pooh Bear after A. A. Milne's book which he wrote after seeing Winnie the Bear at the London Zoo. Winnie, was named after the city I now live in, Winnipeg. I thought that name would be appropriate for him. However, I wasn't comfortable with the "Pooh" part of it. One day, while playing with him, I slipped on his name and called him "Pookie Bear" by accident. Eureka! That's it! "Pookie" ... "Winni the Pookie Bear" ... Well, okay, it's not the greatest name, but after six weeks of trying to find him a name, I had to decide on something!!
