Tori picked up Mimi's ashes last night. We hadn't asked for an urn (Tori wanted to make her own), so we received her ashes in what looks like a very small plastic garbage can. We don't hold it against the crematorium, but really, a coffee can would have been more comforting. We also received a certificate of private cremation, as well as a clay disc with Mimi's pawprint on it. It's only been a week, but I feel like I shouldn't tear up when I see a little plastic bag of Mimi inside the plastic container, but I can't help it. Damn, it still hurts.
To make myself feel better, and to offer myself a little closure, I'd like to share with you all a few things I loved about Mimi. Maybe some of your cats did one or more of what I will soon describe, and that's cool. Here are things I loved about Mimi:
- her petite, pink pawprints. I know male white cats also have pink pawprints, but Mimi's were so... perfect for her. Coupled with the dainty white paws, the pawprints were extremely feminine, and the claws gave her that "I'm girly, and don't fuck with me" look I fell for hard. When you'd pick her up and hold her, she'd sometimes cross her paws, looking like an impatient little diva.
- her markings. Calicos' markings can look either amazing or ludicrous; Mimi's was the former. The orange and black patches worked perfectly, from the black reaching her eyes to the rainbow tail. Hell, the inside of her left ear was calico-patched.
- she was a damned cute snoozer.
- her indignition, particularly when it came to her territory. The bedroom was definitely Mimi-land, particularly the bed. She had her corner of the bed, and we made sure her place was marked with an old blanket Tori had from college. Except for when the sunbeams shone through the living room window or the sun room, Mimi slept on the bed. This made it difficult when Tori and I, say, wanted to get intimate. We'd have to remove her from the premises and close the door behind her. After one such incident, I got up to go to the bathroom. I opened the door, and there was Mimi, sitting right in front of the door, glaring at me as if I farted in her ear. She stood up, gave me a very curt and disgusted "meow!", and walked right past me into the bedroom and onto her blanket. (Translation: "I don't care what you two apes do in your spare time, but you do NOT kick me off my bed!")
- her fat ass. Although she never weighed more than 15 pounds, she had a big butt typical of her attitute: she was the Mo'nique of calicos. When dinnertime came along (or when she believed dinnertime was supposed to be, defined as several hours before dinner), she'd run at a fast waddle, her butt swaying as she trotted.
- her rat-like skinny tail. The tip of it was slightly bent, probably broken years before. It was slightly imperfect, just like her, and that in turn made her perfect.
- her trill. Mimi purred a lot, but brush or scratch her just the right way, and she'd give you this tribble-like high-pitched rrrrrrrrrr of contentment.
- her position as kitchen supervisor. When Tori and/or I were cooking in the kitchen, you could be sure Mimi was there, waiting patiently for a food scrap or three. She loved any kind of meat, and if anything came from a tit, she wanted a piece of that, too. She tried more types of cheese than probably any cat on earth. When not munching, she'd sit patiently on a Trader Joe's bag set for her by Tori, watching and waiting for an error of gravity to go her way.
- when Tori and I went to bed, Mimi would be with us, sleeping. Occasionally, I'd start singing in falsetto, Frankie Valli-style. She'd get up and walk right towards my face, staring, as if she was concerned for my well-being. It never failed: I'd starting singing "Big Girls Don't Cry" or "Sherry," and she'd walk across the bed over to me, with a look that asked, "What the HELL is wrong with you?"
There was so much to Mimi. She was very much our little diva: demanding, pert, impatient. Yet she was easy to purr, happy to be brushed (including her belly), and so much of part of our little family. Tori and I will miss her so much; pictures and ashes can't come close to replacing her.