Ask Twenchie Sunday

A reader asked me about that picture over there. Allow me to introduce Peepers aka The Fat Girl aka Missy Lou Who aka The Queen. She is the Royal cat in the House of Twench.

Her actual name was given to her when I got her. She was the runt of the litter and around the age of 10 weeks she was still too tiny to meow so she *peeped* much like a new born bird. Her mother, Fluffy, was owned by my sister and Fluffy was, well to put it bluntly, a slut who routinely had a new litter. For at least two years my sister tried to send me home with a kitten every time I visited. It was always easy to say no until I met Peepers. She was so tiny that she fit in the palm of my hand and when she looked up at me with those big green eyes and peeped, it was love at first sight.

She was certainly entertainment those first few months. She was tiny in stature but big of heart and in her mind she could do anything. The first time she went outside to the back yard she literally had to hop over the blades of grass. She would romp around with the twenchettes all day and come in at night exhausted. Her favorite sleeping spot was on the top of the back of my recliner. At least 4 nights a week she would fall asleep and fall off. The THUD of her hitting the floor never stopped being funny, especially when she would come out from behind the chair and look at me as if to say "what? I totally meant to do that"

She loved to be outside and hunting or lying in the sun next to the kids while they played. It wasn't long before we kept a shovel by the back door. She loved hunting and it was her calling in life. She would show up at the back door at least once a day, with her tail standing proud, to gift me with her latest present. My response was usually "missy lou who what did you bring me today". People often commented on how beautiful my flower bed was. Little did they know what I was using for fertilizer! Back then the house we lived in backed up to farmland so there was no shortage of hunting grounds. Come to think of it, there was no shortage in our house. We often had mice get in but I never needed traps. I had Peepers. For those of you thinking that's terrible, it's the circle of life people.

When she was about 8 we moved and our new house was on a busy street. That ended her days of roaming around outside, but it was ok. She was getting older and it seemed she was ready to settle into being a house cat. That's where the name The Fat Girl was born. She was no longer outside running around all day but she still saw the need to eat as much. Hmmmmm, she's kind of human that way! She spent her days lying around in the sun patches and chasing tin foil balls and cuddling up on my lap while I watched TV at night.

Looking back I realize that she's been there for most of the big events in my life. Always with a meow, or a head butt, or a kiss, or just curling up and being my best friend. People often say "if only they could talk" when discussing animals but the truth is, Peepers does talk. She speaks with her eyes and when she's mad she has no problem flipping me off with her tail. Or meowing loudly. She may not have words but she manages to communicate quite effectively!

Her most recent name came a couple of years ago. The Queen. Mr. Twench dubbed her with that one and rightfully so. She is The Queen in every sense of the word. We often joke that we are merely the care takers of the nursing home. Peepers is in charge and she makes sure we know that at all times. We've had to place stools around the house to help her reach her favorite spots because well, she's not as adept at jumping as she once was. We've had to start feeding her only wet food because well, the truth of the matter is she can no longer chew dry food. We discovered that one when we gave her a crunchy treat. She chewed, and she chewed and then she finally admitted defeat and spit it out, along with a tooth. Getting old is a bitch.

She's no longer the fat girl. She's skinny and pretty frail but she still has a big heart and she can still flip a mean tail. She's developed cataracts and no longer sees as well as she once did. She routinely does laps around our coffee table. Mr. Twench likes to say she's on the track getting ready for a big race. When she sits to rest he says she's in the pits for a tire change :)

At the age of 19 I don't know how many years Ms. Peepers has left. Her body is giving out and frankly, I think she has some dementia going on. Sometimes she gets out of her bed, heads down the hall to the kitchen, and then sits and looks back at us as if to say "where the hell was I going". I'll continue putting stools around the house, and carrying her up to our bed at night, and washing her face to get the spots she can no longer reach. She'll continue to tail flip me because she doesn't like being helped. I think it makes her feel old and she wants to remain independent. I don't do these things because I have to, I do them because I choose too. She's my best friend and that's what best friends are for.