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Tord, Tordibear, Bear, Old Bean, "Her Royal Majesty"
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April 15th 1990
Treats (Pounce Tartar Control), being brushed with "The Glove", sunbeams.
OLIVER! (unless no one's looking); 'You', 'me', and 'them'.
Catnip. Tordi can still go from being a grouch to loving the table legs when exposed to 'the nip'.
Favorite Nap Spot:
The couch or the bed, in a little nest made of her favourite blankets and heating pad.
Dry kibble (Techni-Cal), treats, The Holy Tuna Water. Tordi doesn't really like canned food.
The ability to instantly hate someone as soon as she's gotten what she wants from them!
indoors and outdoors
Update (November 10th, 2009): Today, sadly, I must update Tordi's story with the news of her passing at 19 and 1/2 years of age. She had gone from an elderly 6.5 lbs down to 4.5 lbs over a few weeks, and she didn't seem to be improving despite a switch to a canned food that was easier on her teeth and which she seemed to be eating. After much tearful debate and the grim diagnosis of kidney failure from the vet, out of love and mercy, Tordi's human family decided to have her put to sleep to end her pain and suffering.
While I regret that my brother and I could not be there for her due to our locations, it was comforting to know that she spent her final minutes on earth with our mom and dad, being held and told just how very much we all love her.
Nothing will ever fill the void left by Tordi's larger-than-life personality. She was and will always be a full-fledged member of our family.
I am leaving much of Tordi's story from when she was still with us intact, for anyone who'd like to read more about this wonderful lady who touched our lives for nearly 2 decades. I hope to include more memories and photos from Tordi's best years, in the future:
Tordi was originally my grandmother's cat. We went with her to adopt Tordi from the local SPCA, and at the time she was estimated to be 1 and 1/2 years old, and had one kitten left with her from a litter she had (and she looked none to maternal, stuck in a tiny cage with him. This was before the age of communal cat rooms in the shelters).
After various name suggestions when my grandmother got her home, I finally suggested "Tordi" after her coat colourings. "Torti" with the second T sounded very harsh, which is why we changed the spelling.
In January of 1996, a month before my grandmother passed away, we took Tordi in. She's been shedding her hair all over our carpets ever since!
Tordi has always been a grouchy feline who considers very few people to be family. She had a grudging respect for Siona (they had a sort of Garfield and Odie-type relationship), and she is doing fairly well in accepting Oliver (we will occasionally catch them playing hide and seek, when she's not swatting and hissing at him). Tordi seems to thrive on a little bit of animosity, as she is the 'queen of her castle', and likes to assert her authority.
The one form of affection that Tordi will accept from her humans (exclusively, four people and ONLY those four people) is brushing. She loves to be brushed along her head, back, sides and tail... but don't get near her tummy or behind, because she will SNAP! Tordi is particularily fond of 'The Glove'. She is having some difficulty in her later years, in that she can't really bathe herself. The buildup of oils has caused substantial matting, in spite of daily brushing, and so we're hoping that some dry shampoo will help give Tordi her dignity back (because she certainly doesn't like getting those mattes cut out!)
Tordi used to happily jump up onto her 'brushing chair' several times a day, to get her fix. She'll still jump, but her creaky old bones make her more inclined to wait under the chair until someone picks her up to be brushed.
From nearly 17 years of experience, Tordi has become our very wise matriarch of the house. She's very good at knowing when something's wrong, and when someone's hurt or upset, and she will express her concern by hopping up and sticking her nose in your face as if to say "are you okay? I'm going to stand guard, here, until you feel better". She also knows how to subtley communicate what she wants just by standing next to the object she associates it with. She has certain favourite blankets and particular ways of having them set up (she likes to sleep with a heating pad under the blanket), and she'll wait patiently until you have set up her heated little nest exactly as she wants it. She's a VERY smart kitty.
You want me to do WHAT?
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|September 13th 2005
||More than 10 years!
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March 27th 2007 10:49 pm
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I will be 17 on April 15th. According to the Humans, this makes me quite the old lady. I prefer to think of myself as a teenager: I like my primping and preening, and the entire world revolves around ME.
Even though my 17th birthday is coming up, I'm still very healthy after all of these years. My eyesight and hearing are great (just because I don't acknowledge you doesn't mean I don't know you're there. I'm just ignoring you). What's that, you say? I'm not jumping up on chairs and beds, or hunting as much as I used to? Oh, that has nothing to do with creaky joints, ladies and gentlemen, it's because I have the humans so thoroughly trained to cater to my every whim that I don't NEED to hunt for my own food or set up my own sleeping spots anymore. No: dinner is A La Carte, and I get the finest heated and blanketed spots in the house. I even get the curtains adjusted for -maximum sunbeam action-.
I will admit, though, that I need the humans to help groom me a bit. I just don't have the time to do it anymore. When you're overseeing the entire household, there's just no time to make your hair 'star quality'. Unfortunately, those silly Humans can't seem to understand my directions, and I keep getting these ugly hair cuts! If only I had opposable thumbs, I'd be dialing Jennifer Lopez' stylist this very instant!
I have not been in a good mood, and so I've been taking out my aggression on that silly creature I live with, Oliver. I'M the one holding this house together, so he has all the time in the world to prance around with his super clean, fluffy long hair. It's like he just rolls out of the recliner in the morning, already brushed and ready to go! I just want to smack him.
I swear, if a picture of my new haircut shows up on this profile, I am firing my publicist IMMEDIATELY.
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