[Catrancher99]

JINXY (aka: Jinxy Pie or Stinxy Jinxy, depending on his mood)
10 August 2000 to 26 May 2003
"The flame that burns twice as bright, burns half as long." I don't recall where that saying originated, though it was used in the movie "Blade Runner," but it certainly applied to Jinxy.
Jinxy was the only kitten to survive out of a litter of 6. His mother, Ruffles, was totally inexperienced and actually frightened by her own babies. Only with my insistance did she try to care for them. All but Jinxy died of hypothermia. When he was about 4 weeks old, she stopped giving milk. It was a bit before we realized he was starving. He was immediately taken from Ruffles and hand fed KMR and goat's milk until he was weaned. At about 2 months he almost died from some respiratory disease. A rough start for such a feisty character - he lived his short life with all the zest of someone who knew his time was limited. It's not certain, but he was probably taken by a coyote one morning - his buddy, Mister Tips, had nightmares for a while after Jinxy disappeared, so I expect he witnessed the event (poor Mister Tips was never again allowed outside without an armed escort until we moved into town). More than anything in the world, Jinxy loved chicken. I'd cook it, cut it into small pieces and put it down for him, then we'd play a game: I'd act as if I were going to touch his chicken and he'd hiss and growl like a little demon and swat at me. He wasn't that way about his regular catfood, just chicken. After a few incidents where he actually stole entire chicken breasts off the counter I learned to cover them or put them away if I couldn't keep an eye on them - they were my dinner, too, after all. It was hilarious to find him under the bed gnawing away at this stolen booty, hissing and growling fiendishly. His favorite playthings were all cylindrical - pencils, pens, straws, Q-tips. He'd chew them until they were unrecognizable, then stash them under the sofa. If any writing instruments went missing, I knew where to look for them. As a kitten Jinxy worshipped Mister Tips and frequently threw his tiny weight into the older guy playfully (Mister Tips, a Norwegian Forest Cat, weighed in at 16 1/2 pounds at the time). Sweet Tips would tolerate it for a while, meowing pitifully (unhurt, really, just annoyed), then just take one massive paw and shove the little terror down and stare at Jinxy until he subsided, never threatening or hurting, but insisting on some peace. It was amazing to see how gentle the older guy was, considering. It always reminded me of an old cartoon where a little dog was running alongside this big bulldog, saying "We're pals, huh Spike?" [Later, Stormy would repeat this with Mister Tips.] Jinxy disappeared on my birthday, and it was months before I shook off the depression of his loss. I think he's waiting for me to come over to the other side, as is Mister Tips. Meanwhile, I imagine he's tormenting Mister Tips while they wait. The picture in my mind makes me smile.