If you've ever interacted with anyone from my family, you may have observed a few key facts: one, figuratively, our wheels are [barely] duct taped on, and two, we have cats.
Our cats are often hiding (or prominently displayed) on our Christmas cards, getting their hair on you if you visit our house, and aggravating even the most mild allergy cases. Especially our girl, Linda.
Linda (aliases Stinkin' Linda and Fat Linda) came into our home as an impulse buy. We already had a cat - Lorenzo, adopted by Baby Mark and Baby Lily (newlyweds, living in Utah), who wasn't particularly friendly and would occasionally pee on our clothes. On the blessed Linda day, we volunteered to help my dad pick out a cat to solve a recent mouse situation (culturally, this made more sense than an exterminator). At the Petco adoption event, there was a most beautiful kitten that caught our eye. I called my dad to describe her and summon him to the store for the paperwork. In the time it took him to drive the one mile, Mark decided this kitten was too good to give up. When my dad arrived, we showed him a different cat - a different color and not the most beautiful. He knew we pulled the ole bait and switch on him but shook his head and went along with it anyway. (Turns out the alternate cat, Linda's brother, was pretty mean.)
Linda came to live with us in a townhouse that didn't get vacuumed enough, that was also home to Lorenzo and toddler Eli. Not surprisingly, unfriendly Lorenzo did not get more friendly with a new companion in his home. A short time later, baby Marina joined the townhouse and we all lived together in a snow globe of cat hair. Linda grew to be a hefty girl. She loved her food and was gentle, with very few survival instincts. She was easily double Lorenzo's weight but chose not to combat his bullying with force. We had adopted a pacifist.
Linda quietly remained a background fixture of our lives for many years. Moving from the townhouse, to the regular house around the corner, then to Iowa for a year, and back to Illinois into another house. She said goodbye to Lorenzo when his time had come.
We learned that her pacifist leanings extended to both bugs and rodents. When we had mice suddenly appear in our house, she became so anxious, she wouldn't eat her food for days after the mice were evicted.
Linda's enjoyment of being the queen of the [messy] castle was halted after a time. We accidentally adopted Norman after visiting the humane society around Christmas. Norman was quite naughty. He chased Linda around and ate plastic. Unfortunately for Norman, his naughty eating habits led to a sad, early end.
Once again, Linda reigned supreme. She enjoyed being an inside cat, but would occasionally be brave enough to walk out the open patio door and roll on the cement (as long as the door remained open). Her only demands were from 4:30 to 5:00 am. Then she would scratch the wall, door, or anything noisy until someone got up to feed her.
When she was about 15, the Clinton children began a campaign to adopt a new kitten (in their defense, they were being peer pressured with pictures of baby cats from a recent litter). After watching multiple videos of lonely cats suddenly becoming maternal with new baby cats, I became convinced that maybe this would be a positive thing. We brought home a gray kitten (that turned out to be male instead of female). Shockingly, Linda had not been secretly longing for a baby of her own. She hissed at him and then hid. We tried to integrate them slowly, but the big girl did not warm up. The new cat (originally named Glen, then changed to Carlos, then Booty) turned out to be something of a turd. Before long he decided he, too, should bully Linda, who steadfastly remained dedicated to her pacifist principles.
And this is how we have been for several years. Linda going about her day, lying on her special pillow and sleeping in my bed. Booty annoying her and jumping up to nip me in the butt while I walk away.
Then it happened. Linda, who has defied all the odds and shocked the vet at every appointment for so many years with her hardiness, soft bunny-like fur, and amazingly beautiful face, began to decline (though surprisingly, she stayed fat). Then it came time to say goodbye to our faithful friend.
Now the Clintons are sad.
For 18 years, Linda was the most exemplary of cats. She won over people who don't even like cats. Though, elusive, somehow all our acquaintances knew her. While she was never going to be a mouser, she was committed to comforting sick kids and taking naps with the exhausted. She loved fireplaces, lying on her back, making sounds at birds, and claiming any backpack that happened to be sitting on the ground. She slept on my right side with my arm around her every night. Linda wasn't made of fat, she was made of love.
We will remember her all of our lives. She will become an even greater legend. Her picture will continue to wish you a merry Christmas every year (while she smokes). Because Linda is love. And we love Linda.
Here are many, many pictures.
