Tribble

Natasha

I'd like to introduce you to my masters, Tribble and Natasha.

I first met each of them when they were only days old, and they each moved in with me when they were the proper age for such things. Trib, who came from a neighbor, was born in 1986 (he'll be 17 in March). When I later decided that since I was working such odd hours he needed a companion, Tasha, who was from a farm several miles away, came to live with us. She's a year younger than Trib.

Although I lived several miles from Tasha's farm, I actually had a hand in naming her. I worked with the people who had the farm, and one night on the late shift we sat around trying to name the new kittens - we ended up with Sasha, Natasha, Boris, and Klaus. Not for any particular reason (like Trib they're "Heinz cats" - 57 varieties in their bloodline), we just liked the names and they ended up sticking.

There never were any troubles when Tasha moved from the farm to my apartment - I had planned on keeping her and Trib separate, but decided to see what (if anything) might happen when they met first. So I set the carrier (which Trib always has ignored) in the middle of the living room floor, opened the door, and waited. After a few minutes kitten-Tasha came out on her own - and adult-Trib "pounced". Before I had any say in the matter he bounded across the room, knocked her over, put a foreleg across her to hold her down...

...and proceeded to wash her within an inch of her life. To this day, whenever she wants "help" with her washing she'll go up to him and put the top of her head in front of his nose. I've never seen him not give her what she wants.

They're apartment cats - they've only been out on the grass a few times, and only when I'm out with them. They don't seem to mind - I do have a balcony, and in the summer they enjoy laying in the sun, and year 'round they'll watch the birds and geese who land on the railing and on the nearby trees. Trib especially...

He is a handful. Don't let anyone ever tell you that neutering a male cat will make him calm down and put on weight. Never affected Trib one bit - even at 16 he's still as rowdy and troublemaking as ever (I'd say "curiosity killed the cat" was written for him, but he ain't dead yet).

He's into absolutely *everything*, always exploring, knocking things over that are in his way. I can't keep anything on my coffee table because he'll climb on top, and while staring straight at me clear the top with one swipe of his paw and then stretch out full-length for a nap on *his* space. I'm glad the squirt gun trick broke him of climbing curtains (although it doesn't seem to have broken him of any other bad habits) because I know he'd be tap dancing on the curtain rods otherwise.

He has 2 modes - sleep and troublemaking. He loves chasing flashlight beams around, never met a newspaper or a paper bag he didn't like. When he's in trouble (which is just about daily), he will walk over to you (by the most direct route, whatever it takes him over or through), stares at you, and cuts loose with the loudest purr you can imagine to try to charm you out of any "inconvenience" to him that might be forthcoming.

Even though he's had his share of health problems (2 bouts of "blocked cat syndrome" when he was young, thyroid trouble more recently), nothing slows him down. I suspect he's going to be going full-speed ahead until the day he dies.

Now Natasha, on the other hand, could not be more different. Her 2 modes are sleep and looking at Trib like he's absolutely insane. Where he's rowdy, she's quiet. She observes - I wish I knew what she was plotting, the better to prepare myself for what's coming. She's almost painfully shy. When visitors are here, even if they're here for days, she hides and only comes out when she's comfortable.

She once hid for several hours in plain sight - while staying with my parents she disappeared and they started panicking, searching the house, ready to start searching the streets. My dad finally spotted her - she was sitting on top of the piano, among several large nicknacks and stuffed animals (think of that scene in "ET" with ET hiding among the stuffed animals in the closet). The only reason Dad noticed her was that she'd been carefully watching a moth flying around a light and moved her head slightly.

She goes around things, not over or through them. She moves carefully, always watching what's around her. She'll climb on the bed to take a nap where she knows she won't be bothered, and then yowls when she wakes up because there's nobody around (and won't stop until you call out to her). About the worst thing she does is miss the litter box every once in a while. She's like the good child to Trib's problem child.

With such dissimilar personalities, you'd think Trib would be the boss. Trib might think he's the boss, but I suspect it's only because Tasha lets him think so. I've seen her smack him too many times to think otherwise (and never seen him return the "favor").

They don't play much together, they never have really. These days they remind me of a couple who have been together for so many years that they've grown comfortable together, even if they don't have much in the way of common interests. Actually, they've almost always been that way. Trib is there for Tasha's private amusement, Tasha is there to make sure Trib doesn't get too out of line.

They're both "lovers" in their own way. If I'm not feeling well, I can't keep them off of me. They greet me at the door when I come home from work, and I know they can't see me coming and I come home at different hours - they just know I'm coming. I can't sit down without getting a visit from one of them, just to say "hello".

They're just my fur-covered babies.

Copyright © Jeanne Hedge
December 22, 2002

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Tribble crossed the Rainbow Bridge quite unexpectedly on May 1, 2003 after a very short illness. He was exactly 17 years and 2 months of age. True to the way he lived, he was the curious cat to the end, spending some of his final minutes giving the equipment in the doctor's office pokes, sniffs, and, to one device in his path as he made his inspection rounds, a rather satisfying swat.

Fare thee well, old friend.

In Loving Memory of Tribble.
1986 - 2003
He is sadly missed.

Copyright © Jeanne Hedge
July 11, 2003

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