Our most beloved cat, Minky, has moved on to larger hunting grounds, leaving us with years of fond memories of her loving nature towards people and ruthless nature towards any and all small birds and mammals.
|She enjoyed spinning almost as much as I do.|
Last summer, we noticed that she was walking slowly and not really engaging in the merciless hunting that had made her reputation. She had to stop and rest when traveling up the hill between her winter home and her summer home. A trip to the vet in Corner Brook revealed that her heart was enlarged - a genetic condition that would end only one way, sooner or later. The vet didn't recommend the pills and the other treatment involved traveling with her to PEI for thousands of dollars worth of surgery - surgery that would only result in the same outcome i.e. death, albeit months or possibly, years, later.
|Minky brings new meaning to the Utopia Tent.|
Minky was a dignified soul who didn't need to go through all that travel and invasive treatment. She spent her earliest days at the shelter in Curling, winning the hearts of the volunteers there with her warm, friendly manner. Also, she caught all the mice that were foolish enough to try to take up residence at an animal shelter. We noticed her because of her sleek, all black appearance - like a mink or perhaps, like a Minky whale. Thus her name.
She offered us years of dedicated service in keeping varmints away, sometimes resulting in multiple catches in a day. We learned to watch our step first thing in the morning as there would be some tidbit waiting on the welcome mat as a gift of appreciation from Minky. In her enthusiasm, she even carried a live chipmunk into the house during one of my public House Museum events. She also loved to sleep on your lap and crawl up to rest her face so she could look right into your eyes. She trained me well - a quick tap on my face at 3 am was all it took most nights to get me up so I could let her outside.
Last fall, as we packed up to head south, she knew, as she always did, that this meant she would shift back to her winter home. We always fancied that she preferred our house - and she probably did considering the love and attention that was showered upon her there. But last year, she lay on Finn's bed and looked at me out of one eye as I raced around, packing. When I met her eye, I knew it meant only one thing - this was our final good-bye. She never allowed me to give her tearful good-byes in year's past - she simply would have none of it and would wander away before we could weep and wail in front her. I always respected that about her because, let's face it, who were we really weeping for, if not ourselves? Last year, she allowed me to pet her and speak softly, offering my apologies that, once again, we were leaving her behind. I knew it would be for the last time.
I have been half expecting to hear of Minky's death this past winter, but no, the word was that she was fine. Then, today, I heard from our neighbor that she has been missing for a week and, despite the efforts to find her, she seems to have gone. I am not surprised. This is how she lived - not making a fuss, just doing what was needed.
We loved you dearly, sweet, beautiful Minky! Thank you for sharing your life with us.