Welcome to T.C.'s Rainbow Residency

Memories of T.C.

4/27/08 -- Two days after you left My handsome little chatterbox, goofy little comedian, in time I will stop crying enough to write a truly fitting tribute for you. But right now I am reeling, and my heart is breaking in two. Your cancer came out of nowhere and took you away so fast. Sweet, lovable T.C., such an old soul -- I miss you so. Your buddy Harley keeps looking for you everywhere, meowing and calling for you. Pepper sees my sadness and has been even more sweetly attentive than usual. 4/30/08 -- Home again I got the call from the vet hospital today that your ashes were ready. They had poured you into such a tiny box. When they showed me your paw print in clay with a strand or two of your long beautiful hair still embedded in it, my heart melted again -- with deep sadness, but also an indescribable comfort. All week I had been feeling so alone, like a solitary rock out in the middle of the ocean, but now you were coming home again with me. 5/2/08 -- Laughter through tears T.C., beautiful boy, in the midst of this terrible sadness, I need to laugh. So I will begin my precious memories of you with the funny things. Somehow, you learned as a tiny kitten that an appropriate time to chatter like a kitty typewriter was when I was in the kitchen clattering pots and pans. So, every morning as I prepared breakfast, there you were under the kitchen table making nonsense cat noises at me. The Mouth of the South. I would answer you back in nonsense cat noises, which you then responded to so eloquently. And so on. Sometimes you'd yawn loudly in the middle of a wide-open rowr-rowr-mowr. I miss our highbrow conversations. You were the most double-jointed cat I've ever seen. I was amazed that you could get on your stomach and splay your hind legs flat and out to the side in back of you. This was particularly amazing since you were a big ol' 20-pounder. And particularly cute when you would do this on the rug in front of the T.V., as if you were a little kid watching Saturday morning cartoons. And, on the flip side, you loved to take naps on your back, with all four legs sticking lazily up in the air. I'd hear loud snoring, and there you'd be, flat on your back, showing that fat tummy whose swirling colors reminded me of a caramel fudge sundae. I remember when I first brought you home as a 7-week-old kitten. You explored every inch of your new home, including the double-trunked fake ficus tree. And got yourself stuck in between the two trunks. Pardon me, but you looked like a chunk of moo-shoo pork on chop sticks. I heard your little kitten cries and came running to your rescue, whereupon you flounced off to get in trouble somewhere else. My, my, did you love to thump open the bathroom cabinet doors. It was your main human talent, wasn't it? 3 a.m.: thump, thump, thump, thump, thump ... "T.C.!!!!!" Silence. And it was impossible for me to keep a sliding closet door closed. That was your other talent. You never cared one bit if a kitty bed was already occupied by another kitty. You would just sit right on top of that kitty. All 20 pounds of you. The food bowl. Ah, the stories I can tell! You lived for kibble. Not wet cat food, or people food, but just boring, dry kibble. Pouring kibble in your bowl was a struggle for me, as your head would be in there instantly, blocking the way. Silly cat. Big Head in Food Bowl = Kibble in Ear and Up Nose. And All Over Floor. And, finally, you were at your funniest when you were investigating big dark objects on the floor. Like my handheld hair dryer. You slowly crept up to it, hesitant, cautious, hair on end, because, after all, to you it was a Very Large Ugly Bug That Could Possibly Eat You. You batted it quickly and yanked your paw back, batted and yanked, batted and yanked. Unable to resist teasing you, I made a sudden sharp noise and you pogo-sticked 4 feet straight up into the air. I mean, straight up, as if your paws had Flubber on them. Silly, goofy cat! 7/15/08 -- More fond memories My heart still aches when I think of you, dear T.C. I have realized that much of what I miss is just the ability to look at you. My eyes always gloried in your perfect beauty. OK, I admit that from behind, you looked like a large bowling ball with legs. Watching you from behind as you went down the stairs always made me chuckle. And you had enormous hind feet, like Bugs Bunny. So maybe you were not 100% perfect. But from every other angle, you were what I lovingly called my "pinup kitty." Tabby in every way, from the perfectly formed "M" over those big green eyes, to the rich striations that covered you in perfect symmetry, to the solid black stripe that ran down the length of your spine, to the dark orange nose that looked like it had been colored in with a Crayola crayon. And what a wonderfully soft tail you had, and such luxurious fur! And that purrrrrrrr ... the best one in the house. I don't think I ever heard a proper "meow" from you. You certainly had your own nonsense language, though. And you used your whole body to communicate with me. In your last few months of life, when you finally decided you wanted to be a lap cat, you learned that getting an all-over-body scratch and rub from me was truly the cat's meow. And you would close those gorgeous eyes and scrunch up your face in such glorious pleasure. In your pre-lap-cat days, sometimes I'd be sitting in my favorite chair, reading, and I'd look over and see two fuzzy ears and two great big, round, dinner-plate-sized eyes staring intently at me from the floor. Just ears and eyes peeking up over the armrest, nothing else. Those eyes could stare nonstop, unblinking, for an hour. I mean, didn't they ever dry out? Didn't you ever get bored? But you always got my attention, and I'd feed you or whatever. I'd walk in the door after a long day at work, and instead of giving me a "hi, how was your day" purr and shin rub, you'd make an immediate beeline for the food bowl and then stare intently at me, as if to say "Hey YOU! Food person. Over here. Feed me. NOW." I got the message, you little stinker. You'd snuffle and snort as you vacuumed up the kibble. As you chewed, your lips and cheeks would undulate back and forth, up and down, slowly and lopsidedly, like a little old man with no teeth. Were you related to Garfield, perchance? Well, no, probably not, because you came running to me whenever I called your name. And even when I called some other kitty's name. Maybe you were part puppy dog. No matter what you were doing -- sleeping, scratching an itch, bathing yourself -- you would come instantly when I called. Maybe because you thought you'd get fed? You liked playing Gymboree with me in bed at 2 a.m., didn't you? I'd be sleeping peacefully and all of a sudden your bowling ball self would land heavily on my stomach as you jumped from one side of the bed to the other. Now, that was not cute. Not endearing at all. When you used the couch as a scratching post, I'd scold you loudly, mid-scratch. You'd freeze, scrunch up your face as if a strong wind were blowing and you'd make your little staccato clicking noises, looking pitiful in your stuck-like-Velcro state, until you could work your claws loose from the fabric. I could never stay mad at you. A warrior cat you were not. When the doorbell rang, you were the first one to zoom upstairs and cower under a bed or in some impossibly small, dark hidey-hole somewhere. It took you two days to come out and get to know anyone new in the house, but once you did, you were marvelously affectionate. I miss your tickly whisker kisses. They came very rarely, and were so soft and fleeting I could barely feel them. Must be a male cat thing. Harley kisses like that, too. Pepper, being a female who views herself as a nurturer, caregiver, and general cleaner-upper, gets right down to business. She'll scrape my hand, arm, nose, chin, or cheek to the bone if I let her. But you were a whisker kisser. And I had to really earn one of those rare little tickles. How is it that a medium-haired cat can go for eight years with nary a hairball? Not a peep of a cough? Not one episode of vomiting? No overly visible shedding? Just nothing, nothing, nothing? THANK YOU for that, but I'm mystified. Then, BOOM. Cancer. Lymphangiosarcoma all over your stomach. You were fine one day, you had cancer the next, and you were gone within 6 weeks. You were the youngest kitty. You weren't supposed to go first. You were "T.C.," the "Third Cat," the little instigator who had to fight and scrap your way into an already established territory, always clamoring for acceptance and affection and not always getting it from the other cats. But most deserving of it, with your sweet, docile nature. Being an indoor cat, you weren't supposed to die so young or so fast. I miss you terribly, dear little one. Harley misses you. He is much more vocal than he was when you were with us, sounding wistful and sorrowful, and he needs more snuggling and cuddling from me. We are helping each other. He gets extra warmth and loving from me, which he used to get from you when you two would snuggle head-to-head together, and I get even more love from him, which reminds me of you. I raised such wonderful kitties, and I am so lucky that all of you found me. 2/17/09 Hello little one! I think about you all the time. I put all of your photos together into a memorial video with beautiful music, and posted it on YouTube. It was wonderful to visit you again during the making of the video, but nothing is the same as burying my face in your sweet, soft fur and hearing that velvet purrrrr. I will love you and miss you always. -- Mama 4/25/09 My dear T.C., I can't believe it has been a year already since that painful day when you left this world. I wonder if you can see us -- Harley, Pepper and me -- and I wonder if you are happy where you are. You are tucked away forever in my heart. I have no words to express how much I miss you, think about you, wish you were still here to grow old with us. I love you so, and always will. -- Mama 12/25/10 I think about you a lot, dear T.C ., especially at times like Christmas when memories of loved ones are cherished more than ever. The memory of you is so clear and strong. You are always by my side. Love, Mama

Photograph Album
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T.C.'s People Parent(s), Valerie, would appreciate knowing you have visited their Baby's Residency. Click here to Email Valerie a message, or to send a sympathy card click here. Email this page to a friend. Give a gift renewal of T.C.'s residency.

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