We were so happy when we discovered Twinkie and her sister Taffy on March 29, 1992. When we lost our other cat, Pola, there was a void left in our life. We began to look everywhere for a new companion or two. We searched at shelters and other places, but either they were already too sick, or too old, or we could not bear to lose another pet to sickness and old age.
Twinkie died at age 11 from chronic renal failure on October 4, 2003. We want to remember her in the way she was with us, a loving, loyal and faithful companion who gave us countless hours of smiles and joy. Twinkie was named for her orange and white color and the little bit of white in the center of her nose. Just like the inside of a Twinkie! What a cream puff she was. A courageous cat too.
She would spend her time sleeping, waiting and looking forward to the end of the day when her masters were home and she would get those pets and treats. She was with us wherever we were, but mostly you could find Twinkie lazing in the afternoon sunshine. I used to sing her that song, We’ll Sing In The Sunshine, by Gale Garnett from 1963. Twinkie didn’t care that I could not remember all the words or whether I sang it off key, she loved us unconditionally. The words in it were so true, and I knew it and she knew it. She was just happy to be our cat, and she made sure we knew it too.
Spoiling her as we could often do, we taught her to dance for her treats, we taught her to enjoy having her whiskers stroked. We taught her to run around and race to grab the soft foam toy, “The Roomerang”. Her favorite toys were ordinary things, such as: the round plastic rings from the tops of milk containers, the little plastic clear hair spray caps. One of her favorites was a toy I could only find one of, and then some manufacturer stopped making it. It was a weighted plastic sack with feathers inside it. She used to carry that around everywhere. She played with it until there was nothing left of it anymore. When it came time to change the sheets (especially fresh out of the warm clothes dryer), there she would come running up to the top of the bed, only to play a game with me and scrunch herself under the new, stretchy, jersey knit sheets. Then I would call out, “Where’s Twinkie?” I would tickle her toes and she would tease me back.
We are going to miss seeing her meet us in the living room every night when she heard the kitchen door open. We are going to miss seeing her sleeping in the afternoon sunshine. We are going to miss the times when she only wanted to be on our lap, or sleep beside us in bed. We are going to miss the times when we would hunt all over the house to find that special birdie toy, or the little puffy sparkle pom-pom balls she would play with. We know that there will never be a cat as special as Twinkie. And with most things we love dearly, eventually they die. But I know when I gaze up at the nighttime stars, I’ll be thinking: Twinkie, Twinkie little star, how I wonder where you are, up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. Next to Twinkie’s urn, we have placed several items of her memorabilia, but one so special is a little Boyd’s Teddy Bear I found at the store the same day her ashes came, crying and holding a blue handkerchief up to it’s eye. The bear’s name is WILL B. MISSIN’ YOU.