Not long after a particularly harrowing break-up I came into possession of a pure-bred Siamese kitten. He was such a small thing, all ears and feet, when I saw him at the breeder's place. His father was yowling at me like a thing from the Underworld as I perused the little balls of fluff.
I chose the quietest. He seemed a lot like me in many ways - reclusive, shy, awkward. I had my ex with me - the one I'd had the harrowing break-up with - and she cuddled him on the way home. She suggested the name 'Shinji' because he'd found his voice and had started complaining not long after we left the breeder's place and it reminded her of an anime character with a propensity to whine about how unfair life was. 'Shinji' it was.
My little Shnigga stayed with me through the years that followed. When he was a kitten he had the most tremendous voice and he used it all the time; one of my friends once mentioned that whenever he rang my home he heard Shinji meow three times before I'd even said 'Hello?' When my fiancee moved in with me she brought her pet cat, Mordred, and Shinji hated him on sight. The third - and much later - addition to our family, Bella, was a far more smooth transition.
Plagued by health problems more or less from birth, Shinji has been afflicted by an unusual malady called mushy paw disease which made his pads swell up. The vet suspected he'd had cat flu before I bought him (which might explain why the breeders sold the whole litter at half price). He has gunky eyes and, eventually, very bad teeth.
He was cranky but loyal, loud but quirky, opinionated but cunning. He loved cheese and sunshine and chicken, and he suffered liver failure late in life. After he had a seizure in my fiancee's arms we took him to the vet at 10:30 at night on the 21st of March, 2012, and I watched as he put his head down for the last time.
I buried my beloved cat on my parents' farm. He rests in the company of dogs. I miss him terribly.
I feel like I let him down, like I should have been able to rescue him from catastrophic liver failure, like I didn't do enough. He was my cat, and I should have been able to save him. It's not a logical thought, I know, but it's there nonetheless. My world is a little colder and less welcoming without him trotting around the corner to meow at me for no readily apparent reason before going off to whack Mordred on the nose and then sleep in the sun.
Never again will I say, 'Word up, my Shnigga!' and be answered by a loud (and often confused) meow. He was beautiful, and ugly, and he hated the cold. He hated the little padded coat we bought him that said 'STUD' on the back a lot more, though...
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