April 10th was a dreadful day for me. A widow, I heard the devastating news that Cheeto, my elegant and beloved orange tabby, my little 24/7 pal my late husband and I had rescued 11 years before, had cancerous tumors in his abdomen, no doubt the reason for his gradual loss of weight. Like most animals hiding illness or pain, he remained alert, chipper and loving throughout the course of his disease, just a bit slower. At 15, that would be expected of an older kitten. But the x-rays were definitive--the quality of life was rapidly diminishing. So I gave the dreaded nod, and held him tight as he slipped over the Rainbow Bridge.
I wasn't planning on another pet for awhile as grief held Cheeto tight in my heart. But eventually I tentatively started looking on local shelter sites. And then, one day, there they were in the Marshfield Area Pet Shelter (WI): two tawny-colored brothers, litter mates who'd been inseparable their entire ten years, looking for a new home after their owner had passed away. I kept going back to that site, then would think, no, not the right time. But when is the right time?
I have wonderful neighbors, a couple who took Cheeto into their home whenever I'd go away, They were equally devastated when Cheeto died. So I showed them the picture of the two brothers, and between the three of us, decided a road trip to check these two out was in order. Off we went on a warm summer morn to the shelter two hours away. We had decided it had to be a unanimous decision as they were willing to kitty-sit any new cat I chose.
It didn't take us long to realize these two rather portly gentlemen were very friendly, sweet and quite playful. They had been at the shelter about two months, and had been on display in the front window of the shelter for some time. Part of their history was that they became "barn cats" after their owner passed away, but it must have been for a very short experiment until they were brought to the shelter. Perhaps their age, maybe their size, was against them, but we three decided we liked them and would give them a new chance at a loving home. Homes!
They've been with me about three months. I live in Wisconsin's Northwoods, where eagles, fishers, foxes, coyotes, wolves and bears roam freely. Needless to say, they do not go outside! I love them, and so do my neighbors, who have had them one time for a week. The cats are crazy fun, not shy with visitors, busy all the time, and play-wrestle each other if nothing else is going on. They do NOT meow, only chirp, especially when it's time for a meal or treat. (They definitely know why kitchens exist!)
Because they do not have normal cat vocalizations, they were renamed Chirp and Twirp, which fits them perfectly. Chirp is the noisiest with his chirps, while Twirp lives up to his impish name. As I write this, Chirp has settled into my lap while his brother, Twirp, sleeps in a nearby chair. They are here to stay.
EAGLE RIVER, WI
