Lin Shaye
06-07-2007, 03:11 PM
This is a very long story...but it was what I wrote when my kitty Mr. Wink died last Thanksgiving...I hope it is something of interest to all of you.
I knew it was going to happen. His name was Mr. Wink. He was my black and white cat, of an unknown “species”, with long legs, long flipping tale, and a “roman” nose, (complete with a little bump) that had a little black square under it that could have been interpreted as a “Hitler” mustache, but that was much too bleak of a reference for a cat as sweet as Mr. Wink.
There was a little song that I used to sing to him, my own rendition of course, that became “our song,” and came from the Jimmy Durante show that I used to watch when I was little. Jimmy, a famous old vaudevillian comedian, who also had a big nose, used to sing a little song “wink-a-dink-a-dooooo, a dink-adoooo adinkadooo” while he side-stepped and shook the crumpled fedora hat he always wore in one hand. I often cooed that song to Mr. Wink. He seemed to like it a lot.
Wink was of an unknown age, as he was a skinny, sad neighborhood stray when we moved into this house. He quickly became a guardian to my 5 pound Calico cat called Baby, as well as her protector and “lover” if you believe cats can love each other. She was 21 years old…an unbelievably old age even for a cat… Baby had been an outdoor cat for years, also a stray, found at about 8 months behind a washing machine in a house my husband and I were renting. Being as little as she was, she was “low cat on the food chain, as well as totem pole” and somehow knew the tiny spaces to crawl into when danger was around, and managed to escape all neighborhood peril ranging from coyotes and raccoons to the wasps that ate her food.
When she and Wink met, I was so afraid he would try and drive her off, but much to my astonishment, she did the hissing and he did the cowering, until one day I noticed that the hissing had stopped and they were eating out of the same bowl on the river pebble table on the patio which had become their new home, and which I started to call “Kittyland.”
Soon Wink was grooming her, biting her, meowing to her, tail flipping wildly as he would wind himself around her in the little donut bed that they now shared, and had become their cozy spot together.
She allowed him completely into her life, and I allowed him completely into mine. The name Mr. Wink came from the fact that his left eye was smaller than his right, thus he always looked like he was winking at you. It looked like it had suffered, as had the tips of his ears, many a cat fight and was the real reason for the “wink.”
As Wink’s contentment and happiness grew, so did his tummy, so I also began calling him “A.K.A Monsieur Fatso,” as he blossomed, relaxed and yes, even become “portly.”
He and Baby were inseparable. Wherever she went he went. The only time either of them would come inside was when I prepared their little meal in the mornings. I would leave the door open and they would march in and out and in and out and in and out, as cats are want to do, with anticipation of which can of Fancy Feast would sit on top of their Whiskas.
Their blissful partnership lasted into the 7th year. Then one morning, I came out to greet the happy couple and get their bowls for their morning “fancy feast.” The donut was empty. This was very unusual, for unless there was some kind of a noisy disturbance, or rain had started, they were always there. But there had been not a sound, and definitely no rain.
As I walked around the side of the house, to my horror, I saw smears of blood. I then slowly noticed there were also droplets that had started about 15 feet from the sleep donut. A few feet away from what looked like the bloody skirmish, there was one last, large drop of blood, and then nothing. It was as if whatever had happened and whoever had been taken away had vanished into thin air. I called and called. Nothing.
I sat down in a quiet heap next to a beautiful new sculpture I had just purchased and laid down into a little garden area by the pool, a wonderful “sleeping Angel” from Thailand. She is about 6 feet long, made of Mesa Stone, and is reclining on her side resting on one arm, with her wings folded beside her. She is sleeping peacefully and from the expression on her face seems to be having a beautiful dream. Whatever violence had taken place, she had born witness to it. The skirmish of blood was on the slate right in front of her. I sat with her hoping for some comfort, waited and called some more, but fantasized the inevitable. Was it Wink or Baby?
I must have sat there next to the angel, for about 20 or so minutes, and suddenly Mr. Wink rounded the corner of the garden. He was walking very slowly and came immediately over to me, caressing and “claiming” my leg with his face. I knew then it was Baby that had been taken away. In her “old age” she seemed to have lost most of her hearing. I imagined that whatever had come, Wink had sensed and run away, and by the time her little 5 pound self reacted it was too late. “Maybe she was just hurt, and was hiding” I kidded myself, because somehow I knew I would never see her again. Mr. Wink seemed to know that too. I did the obligatory calling and searching, as I never would have forgiven myself if I hadn’t…but somehow we both knew she was gone.
What really took her away, I may never know. There is speculation it could have been a red tail hawk, which definitely would explain her “disappearing into thin air.” They are big, aggressive, and fully capable of grabbing a 5 pound deaf cat. They are beautiful and fly parallel with the windows of my home which is high up on a hill. A psychic friend corroborated without even hearing my scenario, that “yes, it was a hawk, “and that Baby was gone before she really knew what had happened.” I hope it was that quick. The notion that little Baby suffered in any way, was unbearable.
Wink never recovered. In general it seemed he had lost his reason to be.
He wandered aimlessly, and was of course reluctant to eat at their table. He started coming in the house more and more, and rubbing his face on my leg more and more.
I started to see him in a whole different light too. He had been Baby’s care giver. Now I was his. I mean, I always “cared for him,” by feeding him, and looking out for him, but he redefined the expression “care giving” to me, by the way he took care of Baby. His life was defined by her existence. And now that she was gone, he seemed not sure what to do with himself. He still spent all of his time outside, but wandered in and out of the house more and more each day, jumping up on the couch near “his door” for a few moments, then out again. He would disappear for hours at a time and never slept in that spot where he and Baby shared the donut again. He seemed fairly disinterested in food, but maybe he was hunting more, as he brought me an occasional dead rat, dead rat’s innards, perfectly arranged I may add, or bird feathers. He seemed slower and needier. He wanted to be with me more than ever before. So I encouraged him inside more, stroked him more and loved him more.
I don’t know when it was that I noticed his smell changed. He had kind of an acrid, salty smell, instead of the outdoors smell he often blew in with him when he came in from the outside. And the color of his nose went from pink to almost white. I also noticed he was dropping weight rapidly. I could feel every rib. But it was the notches on his spine and the caved- in wells on either side of his spine above his haunches that really caught my attention. The vet diagnosed him with abdominal cancer. I just remember how robust he was in April, and here it was only November and he had become a shadow of himself, but sweeter than ever and more and more dedicated to my presence.
The vet said it was just a matter of time. There was no point in operating, as he felt 2 tumors in his stomach that felt fairly advanced. He advised me “to take him home” and that “Mr. Wink would let me know if he needed ‘help’ in ‘crossing over.’” I knew what that meant, and began to cry. The idea of injecting my animal, who now had become a devoted friend, with a lethal substance while he sat on my lap in a doctor’s office made me sick to my stomach, and yet there is that whole issue of “misery,” and how much misery do you allow a loved one to go through before you help them move forward.
So take him home I did. And with the new awareness of how finite this all had become so quickly, I began cooking turkey burger for him, fresh tuna, fresh chicken, he even seemed to enjoy kitten kibble. (That is another part of the story, as I had just adopted two pure white kitten brothers, Eek the Riot aka Fearless Flyer aka Dickens and I-don’t- mean-Charles, and Mimzy, the Mellow- fellow. They were now 4 months old and adored “Grandpa Wink” as I now called him on their behalf, although their energy and curiousity were of no interest to a grieving sick cat. But Wink did enjoy their kibble, which they were more than willing to share with him even though he wanted nothing to do with them.)
My vet suggested I let him go out during the day, but bring him in at night as he had no meat on his bones to keep him warm, and certainly no energy to defend himself from anything. The days fortunately were warm and sunny, and as it would begin to get dark I would “let him in,” and then close doors quickly so he would stay. He quickly learned his way to my bedroom upstairs, and when I couldn’t find him one afternoon, in a slight panic, ran upstairs and found him on my bed purring away. He took to sleeping there each night, often purring himself and me to sleep.
He was extremely well behaved, and always used the litter box I had in the laundry room, which the kitten brothers quickly began to share with him. When it was dawn he would wake, ready and eager to go outside and then would disappear for several hours. He became less and less interested in “his morning meal” of any kind, and I often would see him just perched on the wall outside, or sitting in the middle of nowhere, seemingly staring into space, and seemed, in my imagination, to be communing with something I knew little or nothing about.
He grew thinner and thinner, and weaker and weaker, but did not appear to be in any pain. I constantly talked to him, and I swear he would look at me with such understanding and appreciation, I cannot believe that I was imagining things. He had also taken to enjoying a fur throw in my office that one of the kittens liked to sleep on.
On this last day, I picked him up from his outdoor perch at about 3:30pm and put him on the furry side of the throw. He immediately began to purr and “make muffins” with his paws, stretched out and went to sleep.
I was out for the evening and when I came home, he was still on the throw, so I decided to let him stay there, instead of taking him upstairs to my bed. I usually “put the kittens to sleep” in that room about 10, and close the door, but I was afraid Wink might need to use the litter box so I kept the door open and let the kittens have the run of the house for that night.
At about 1:30am Riot and Mimzy began tearing around my bedroom in an insane frenzy. I couldn’t stand it, so I grabbed them, a pillow and a quilt, tossed all of us in my office where Wink was and closed the door behind us, thinking if Wink had to use the litter box in the night, as sometimes he did, I would be there to open the door for him.
It was now about 2am. I slightly dozed, but was not very comfortable to say the least. Suddenly, at about 4:45am…I heard a thud. I realized Wink had either tried to get off the couch or had fallen. Either way, I tied to grab him and he made the first cry of distress I had ever heard him make, let alone any sound at all. Besides purring, Wink was a very quiet cat. I reached for him and took him in my arms. The smell I had smelled before was stronger, and it seemed to come partly from some kind of secretion coming out of his nose that he kept trying to sniff out. It was clear he was trying to breath and having trouble. I knew the end was happening. I think I tried to comfort him, but mostly just hold him and make contact. He gasped a couple of times and then his front legs stiffened and spasmed in front of him, then relaxed then spasmed again.
Suddenly the strangest thing began to happen. My whole body began to vibrate. I could hear the sound. It was almost as if I was purring. I became dizzy and clammy, and felt like I was going to throw up. I thought I was going to faint. I felt weak and afraid, and knew something profound was happening. It was as if some unfamiliar energy had made its way into my body. As I try and describe it, it felt as if I had more inside of me than I could contain…and that for that moment, I had 2 souls inside of my body instead of one.
Then Wink’s front legs stiffened one more time and his head fell limp. I knew he was dead. In my arms. The way I guess I had hoped. Not at a vet’s office. With strangers trying to comfort me. It was just Wink and I and the 2 little kitten brothers. They had became very quiet. One sat at his head, and the other at his feet. A very human image of respect. It was almost like a strange kind of kitten Pieta. Me holding Wink, and his little followers there with him and for him.
It was too dark and early to do anything but lay Wink softly on the flannel comforter and wait for the light. He still looked alive to me. Just asleep. I was sure I could still hear and feel him purring. I stroked him and stroked him. I continued to talk to him for almost and hour and a half.
Then the sun began to come up. It was Thanksgiving morning. I had once started to dig a little grave for Baby at the edge of some young wild native oaks. She never used it and now it was Winks. That seemed very fitting. I was hoping it was big enough for him.
I left him lying peacefully on the comforter, and went down to the hole, cleared away the ivy, and made it a little deeper. Then I went back to get Wink. What would it be like to lift him? Would be flop over? Would he break? I had no idea. Very gently I lifted him from the quilt. I was shocked. It was like lifting a cardboard cut out. He weighed nothing. I mean he felt like a feather. But he also looked exactly the same. Except for his eyes. They were gone. Just hollows remained. I new it was because his soul had left.
I had put down a little bed of ivy leaves at the bottom of the grave, and he fit perfectly in. I covered his small head and ears with more ivy leaves, and then put handfuls of dirt over his body. I was worried I wouldn’t have enough dirt to fill up the hole, but I did. And that was it.
By now it was about 7:30am. Wink had partly died of bereavement and maybe the cancer was a part of that too. I don’t believe he ever got over the loss of Baby. But the love and bond we found in each other was truly indescribable. He knew how much I understood and loved him, and his love for me is unforgettable. I will never forget that strange mingling of our souls. He taught me something so profound. I will always remember it and hold it close. Rest in Peace, my Dearest Mr. Wink…a-dink-a doooo.
I knew it was going to happen. His name was Mr. Wink. He was my black and white cat, of an unknown “species”, with long legs, long flipping tale, and a “roman” nose, (complete with a little bump) that had a little black square under it that could have been interpreted as a “Hitler” mustache, but that was much too bleak of a reference for a cat as sweet as Mr. Wink.
There was a little song that I used to sing to him, my own rendition of course, that became “our song,” and came from the Jimmy Durante show that I used to watch when I was little. Jimmy, a famous old vaudevillian comedian, who also had a big nose, used to sing a little song “wink-a-dink-a-dooooo, a dink-adoooo adinkadooo” while he side-stepped and shook the crumpled fedora hat he always wore in one hand. I often cooed that song to Mr. Wink. He seemed to like it a lot.
Wink was of an unknown age, as he was a skinny, sad neighborhood stray when we moved into this house. He quickly became a guardian to my 5 pound Calico cat called Baby, as well as her protector and “lover” if you believe cats can love each other. She was 21 years old…an unbelievably old age even for a cat… Baby had been an outdoor cat for years, also a stray, found at about 8 months behind a washing machine in a house my husband and I were renting. Being as little as she was, she was “low cat on the food chain, as well as totem pole” and somehow knew the tiny spaces to crawl into when danger was around, and managed to escape all neighborhood peril ranging from coyotes and raccoons to the wasps that ate her food.
When she and Wink met, I was so afraid he would try and drive her off, but much to my astonishment, she did the hissing and he did the cowering, until one day I noticed that the hissing had stopped and they were eating out of the same bowl on the river pebble table on the patio which had become their new home, and which I started to call “Kittyland.”
Soon Wink was grooming her, biting her, meowing to her, tail flipping wildly as he would wind himself around her in the little donut bed that they now shared, and had become their cozy spot together.
She allowed him completely into her life, and I allowed him completely into mine. The name Mr. Wink came from the fact that his left eye was smaller than his right, thus he always looked like he was winking at you. It looked like it had suffered, as had the tips of his ears, many a cat fight and was the real reason for the “wink.”
As Wink’s contentment and happiness grew, so did his tummy, so I also began calling him “A.K.A Monsieur Fatso,” as he blossomed, relaxed and yes, even become “portly.”
He and Baby were inseparable. Wherever she went he went. The only time either of them would come inside was when I prepared their little meal in the mornings. I would leave the door open and they would march in and out and in and out and in and out, as cats are want to do, with anticipation of which can of Fancy Feast would sit on top of their Whiskas.
Their blissful partnership lasted into the 7th year. Then one morning, I came out to greet the happy couple and get their bowls for their morning “fancy feast.” The donut was empty. This was very unusual, for unless there was some kind of a noisy disturbance, or rain had started, they were always there. But there had been not a sound, and definitely no rain.
As I walked around the side of the house, to my horror, I saw smears of blood. I then slowly noticed there were also droplets that had started about 15 feet from the sleep donut. A few feet away from what looked like the bloody skirmish, there was one last, large drop of blood, and then nothing. It was as if whatever had happened and whoever had been taken away had vanished into thin air. I called and called. Nothing.
I sat down in a quiet heap next to a beautiful new sculpture I had just purchased and laid down into a little garden area by the pool, a wonderful “sleeping Angel” from Thailand. She is about 6 feet long, made of Mesa Stone, and is reclining on her side resting on one arm, with her wings folded beside her. She is sleeping peacefully and from the expression on her face seems to be having a beautiful dream. Whatever violence had taken place, she had born witness to it. The skirmish of blood was on the slate right in front of her. I sat with her hoping for some comfort, waited and called some more, but fantasized the inevitable. Was it Wink or Baby?
I must have sat there next to the angel, for about 20 or so minutes, and suddenly Mr. Wink rounded the corner of the garden. He was walking very slowly and came immediately over to me, caressing and “claiming” my leg with his face. I knew then it was Baby that had been taken away. In her “old age” she seemed to have lost most of her hearing. I imagined that whatever had come, Wink had sensed and run away, and by the time her little 5 pound self reacted it was too late. “Maybe she was just hurt, and was hiding” I kidded myself, because somehow I knew I would never see her again. Mr. Wink seemed to know that too. I did the obligatory calling and searching, as I never would have forgiven myself if I hadn’t…but somehow we both knew she was gone.
What really took her away, I may never know. There is speculation it could have been a red tail hawk, which definitely would explain her “disappearing into thin air.” They are big, aggressive, and fully capable of grabbing a 5 pound deaf cat. They are beautiful and fly parallel with the windows of my home which is high up on a hill. A psychic friend corroborated without even hearing my scenario, that “yes, it was a hawk, “and that Baby was gone before she really knew what had happened.” I hope it was that quick. The notion that little Baby suffered in any way, was unbearable.
Wink never recovered. In general it seemed he had lost his reason to be.
He wandered aimlessly, and was of course reluctant to eat at their table. He started coming in the house more and more, and rubbing his face on my leg more and more.
I started to see him in a whole different light too. He had been Baby’s care giver. Now I was his. I mean, I always “cared for him,” by feeding him, and looking out for him, but he redefined the expression “care giving” to me, by the way he took care of Baby. His life was defined by her existence. And now that she was gone, he seemed not sure what to do with himself. He still spent all of his time outside, but wandered in and out of the house more and more each day, jumping up on the couch near “his door” for a few moments, then out again. He would disappear for hours at a time and never slept in that spot where he and Baby shared the donut again. He seemed fairly disinterested in food, but maybe he was hunting more, as he brought me an occasional dead rat, dead rat’s innards, perfectly arranged I may add, or bird feathers. He seemed slower and needier. He wanted to be with me more than ever before. So I encouraged him inside more, stroked him more and loved him more.
I don’t know when it was that I noticed his smell changed. He had kind of an acrid, salty smell, instead of the outdoors smell he often blew in with him when he came in from the outside. And the color of his nose went from pink to almost white. I also noticed he was dropping weight rapidly. I could feel every rib. But it was the notches on his spine and the caved- in wells on either side of his spine above his haunches that really caught my attention. The vet diagnosed him with abdominal cancer. I just remember how robust he was in April, and here it was only November and he had become a shadow of himself, but sweeter than ever and more and more dedicated to my presence.
The vet said it was just a matter of time. There was no point in operating, as he felt 2 tumors in his stomach that felt fairly advanced. He advised me “to take him home” and that “Mr. Wink would let me know if he needed ‘help’ in ‘crossing over.’” I knew what that meant, and began to cry. The idea of injecting my animal, who now had become a devoted friend, with a lethal substance while he sat on my lap in a doctor’s office made me sick to my stomach, and yet there is that whole issue of “misery,” and how much misery do you allow a loved one to go through before you help them move forward.
So take him home I did. And with the new awareness of how finite this all had become so quickly, I began cooking turkey burger for him, fresh tuna, fresh chicken, he even seemed to enjoy kitten kibble. (That is another part of the story, as I had just adopted two pure white kitten brothers, Eek the Riot aka Fearless Flyer aka Dickens and I-don’t- mean-Charles, and Mimzy, the Mellow- fellow. They were now 4 months old and adored “Grandpa Wink” as I now called him on their behalf, although their energy and curiousity were of no interest to a grieving sick cat. But Wink did enjoy their kibble, which they were more than willing to share with him even though he wanted nothing to do with them.)
My vet suggested I let him go out during the day, but bring him in at night as he had no meat on his bones to keep him warm, and certainly no energy to defend himself from anything. The days fortunately were warm and sunny, and as it would begin to get dark I would “let him in,” and then close doors quickly so he would stay. He quickly learned his way to my bedroom upstairs, and when I couldn’t find him one afternoon, in a slight panic, ran upstairs and found him on my bed purring away. He took to sleeping there each night, often purring himself and me to sleep.
He was extremely well behaved, and always used the litter box I had in the laundry room, which the kitten brothers quickly began to share with him. When it was dawn he would wake, ready and eager to go outside and then would disappear for several hours. He became less and less interested in “his morning meal” of any kind, and I often would see him just perched on the wall outside, or sitting in the middle of nowhere, seemingly staring into space, and seemed, in my imagination, to be communing with something I knew little or nothing about.
He grew thinner and thinner, and weaker and weaker, but did not appear to be in any pain. I constantly talked to him, and I swear he would look at me with such understanding and appreciation, I cannot believe that I was imagining things. He had also taken to enjoying a fur throw in my office that one of the kittens liked to sleep on.
On this last day, I picked him up from his outdoor perch at about 3:30pm and put him on the furry side of the throw. He immediately began to purr and “make muffins” with his paws, stretched out and went to sleep.
I was out for the evening and when I came home, he was still on the throw, so I decided to let him stay there, instead of taking him upstairs to my bed. I usually “put the kittens to sleep” in that room about 10, and close the door, but I was afraid Wink might need to use the litter box so I kept the door open and let the kittens have the run of the house for that night.
At about 1:30am Riot and Mimzy began tearing around my bedroom in an insane frenzy. I couldn’t stand it, so I grabbed them, a pillow and a quilt, tossed all of us in my office where Wink was and closed the door behind us, thinking if Wink had to use the litter box in the night, as sometimes he did, I would be there to open the door for him.
It was now about 2am. I slightly dozed, but was not very comfortable to say the least. Suddenly, at about 4:45am…I heard a thud. I realized Wink had either tried to get off the couch or had fallen. Either way, I tied to grab him and he made the first cry of distress I had ever heard him make, let alone any sound at all. Besides purring, Wink was a very quiet cat. I reached for him and took him in my arms. The smell I had smelled before was stronger, and it seemed to come partly from some kind of secretion coming out of his nose that he kept trying to sniff out. It was clear he was trying to breath and having trouble. I knew the end was happening. I think I tried to comfort him, but mostly just hold him and make contact. He gasped a couple of times and then his front legs stiffened and spasmed in front of him, then relaxed then spasmed again.
Suddenly the strangest thing began to happen. My whole body began to vibrate. I could hear the sound. It was almost as if I was purring. I became dizzy and clammy, and felt like I was going to throw up. I thought I was going to faint. I felt weak and afraid, and knew something profound was happening. It was as if some unfamiliar energy had made its way into my body. As I try and describe it, it felt as if I had more inside of me than I could contain…and that for that moment, I had 2 souls inside of my body instead of one.
Then Wink’s front legs stiffened one more time and his head fell limp. I knew he was dead. In my arms. The way I guess I had hoped. Not at a vet’s office. With strangers trying to comfort me. It was just Wink and I and the 2 little kitten brothers. They had became very quiet. One sat at his head, and the other at his feet. A very human image of respect. It was almost like a strange kind of kitten Pieta. Me holding Wink, and his little followers there with him and for him.
It was too dark and early to do anything but lay Wink softly on the flannel comforter and wait for the light. He still looked alive to me. Just asleep. I was sure I could still hear and feel him purring. I stroked him and stroked him. I continued to talk to him for almost and hour and a half.
Then the sun began to come up. It was Thanksgiving morning. I had once started to dig a little grave for Baby at the edge of some young wild native oaks. She never used it and now it was Winks. That seemed very fitting. I was hoping it was big enough for him.
I left him lying peacefully on the comforter, and went down to the hole, cleared away the ivy, and made it a little deeper. Then I went back to get Wink. What would it be like to lift him? Would be flop over? Would he break? I had no idea. Very gently I lifted him from the quilt. I was shocked. It was like lifting a cardboard cut out. He weighed nothing. I mean he felt like a feather. But he also looked exactly the same. Except for his eyes. They were gone. Just hollows remained. I new it was because his soul had left.
I had put down a little bed of ivy leaves at the bottom of the grave, and he fit perfectly in. I covered his small head and ears with more ivy leaves, and then put handfuls of dirt over his body. I was worried I wouldn’t have enough dirt to fill up the hole, but I did. And that was it.
By now it was about 7:30am. Wink had partly died of bereavement and maybe the cancer was a part of that too. I don’t believe he ever got over the loss of Baby. But the love and bond we found in each other was truly indescribable. He knew how much I understood and loved him, and his love for me is unforgettable. I will never forget that strange mingling of our souls. He taught me something so profound. I will always remember it and hold it close. Rest in Peace, my Dearest Mr. Wink…a-dink-a doooo.