But I take it very seriously!

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I'm Jackie O!  I'm Jackie O!  Bast, I hate you humans.



Age: Known birth date late October 1997

Type/Coloring: DSH black/brown/gray mackerel tabby

Weight:   hovering near 15#

Circumstances: Adopted Clermont County Humane Society winter 1997.

No, he's not squeezing her head.  You try to keep an eight week old kitten still for a picture!

Obviously, Tink did not start out a large, in charge brick of a cat.  The image to the left shows what she looked like soon after we brought her home from the pound.  It was Christmastime of 1997.  She was a little bit of a thing, the shelter said eight weeks old.   She was one of the best behaved kittens I ever saw.  Though she's nowhere near as affectionate now, Tink is still one of the easiest cats I've ever had the privilege of living with.  Of course, if you were full of food and slept away your days in a sunny window and your evenings on a comforter in the family room, you might be pretty easy to live with, too.

The three images below are all Tink from four to six months.   Yes, she grew into her feet.  No, she never grew into her ears.  She was playful and very affectionate still, but already very independent.  The first two are shortly before she was spayed, and shortly before she made her foray into the great outdoors.  She was gone for two days and nights.  I thought they were going to have to bury both Tony and me before it was all over.  She showed up the afternoon of the third day, she'd secreted herself in the engine compartment of our neighbor's car.   The neighbor had bought a new car and stuck a 'for sale' sign in the back window of the one Tink chose to climb up in.  The third picture looks like her belly must have been shaved, so it's probably just after the 'big snip.  That would put her at about four months.'

Pardon me, but that's NOT my good side. . .

Me?  No, I wasn't thinking about getting down the treat can and gnawing through to eat all the treats again.  You must be thinking of the other cat.  Oh, wait . . .

I'm tired . . . so tired. . .

More of Tink from one to one and a half years.  We moved to Dayton and bought a house when she was about a year and a half old, which was the first of many major adjustments she's had to make.  She's a real trouper.

Shagged out after a long squawk.

No fair leaving out cooking utensils with no food in them.

Hey!  You told me it was a mouse!

This picture is Tink in one of her favorite spots, the back of the sofa in the front room -- it's within sight of the bird feeder, it's right over the heating/cooling vent, and the sun hits it in the afternoons. 

Elizabeth Taylor got nothin' on me.

This picture explains why they always say, 'he's such a pretty cat!'  Tink is the size of a small house trailer.

<<My weight?  How dare you ask about my weight?  What do you think this is?  I could peel the hide off a German shepherd, that's how much I weigh.
Now off with you.

Tink's density has, by the way, been reduced somewhat since the shot on the left.   Not that she cares.

Give me a WHAT?>>

Screw you -- I  WAS NOT DIRTY.
She's dreaming ... perhaps
About eating an entire chicken,
Bones and all. 
Or else marching, Godzilla-like,
Through a city made of meat.
MMMMM ... meat Ewww ... it's so inconvenient!
I will EAT you, dog boy!



You want me to go WHERE?

The image on the right is from September 2003.  Tink is almost six years old.  She really doesn't look much different -- but cats usually don't, after they reach full behemoth...

YAWN.  My life is a living hell.

"You cannot imagine how wearying it is just to sit here and be the boss.  Because, you know, I had other choices in life -- I could have been anything if it weren't for you pathetic humans interfering.  Isn't it time to eat yet?"