saying goodbye to Tornado Kitty

Tornado Kitty died this past Sunday, and I wanted to write a little about what made her so special.

I adopted her as an adult cat in November 2001, and her name derives from her having been found outside after the September 2001 tornado in central Maryland. At that time she weighed 22 pounds, which made her disinclined to jump and play, but she was a sweetie. Over the years I put her on various diets, and although she was always overweight, she managed to lose a good bit of her starting weight. It was hard to deny food to her—for one thing, she loved eating and expressed it by purring when she really got into it, and she would lick her dish clean. If she found people eating at my low dining room table and she wanted a share, she'd actually sit up on her hind legs and beg. That was frickin' adorable.

She had a strong purr. Here's an mp3 of it. At her yearly checkups at the veterinarian's office, she'd always give the vet trouble by purring loudly when the vet tried to listen to her heartbeat with a stethoscope. What kind of a cat purrs at the vet's office?

She was a licker, too. She groomed me as though I was her little kitten. That didn't work so well when she got to my long hair, but she kept at it. She licked whatever she could get to, be it arm, cheek, or toe. She also groomed other cats when she got a chance, usually against their will. And I could never figure out why, but she licked plastic bags, too.

Tornado Kitty loved to sunbathe, preferring a nice civilized wooden deck to crude dirt or grass. I have to admit that I sometimes joined her on the floor in a pool of sunlight for some rollin'-around-belly-up bonding time. I don't think I've ever experienced such pure, simple happiness as I did during those times.

I miss her.

Thanks to Simon Law for taking the photo that accompanies this post.