The Cat Who Writes™

I am a cat. I write.

A guest post with Tink the dog. She misses her mother.

Editor’s note: Good Morning dear friends. Today I have the honor to guest post Tinkerbell Caron.  She is small, like a cat. Her friends call her “Tink.” She is writing a deep personal story about missing her mother. A pain I also know.
Love Pooh, the editor

This is Tink.

My name is Tink. I miss my mother.

I miss my mother.

The memory is fading.  But I’ll never forget her.

My mother was blonde, and so beautiful.  I remember how her brown eyes filled with tenderness when she looked at me and my brothers and sisters.  She was warm and soft and she smelled like milk.

I was barely more than an infant when I came to live with this family.  They are very kind, and speak gently to me, but my life is not my own.   All I want to do is sleep, and dream about my mother, and forget.

I claimed a bed in one of the rooms, but it is very high, so someone has to pick me up and put me on the bed at bedtime.   I don’t like to sleep alone, so I let the Youngest One sleep on my bed.  It’s not the same as sleeping with my brothers and sisters, snuggled against my mother’s soft belly, but he is very warm.  I like to be warm.

They don’t know my real name.  They could never understand the soft, guttural growl my mother used to call me.  They call me “Tink,”a silly name.  I pretend not to understand when they say it.  

I stand my ground in small ways, like pretending I don’t know my name and refusing to come when they call me. It’s the only power I have, the power to ignore.

There are small joys in my day.  I like when the Young One plays video games, and I can sit in the little valley his legs make, stretched out in front of him.  I like to go on walks, although I am never allowed to talk to other dogs.  They tie a string around my neck so I don’t run away, I suppose.  Where would I go?

Oh, but they get upset when I poop inside.  What am I supposed to do?  They want me to go outside, where it’s dark and scary and cold, and there are animals in the bushes and trees, taunting me.  “Hey little one, come over this way, I’ll snatch you up and eat you,” they hiss from the bushes.  

The people don’t hear the creatures taunting me in the dark.  I try to tell them, “Don’t you get it? It’s dangerous out here!”  Oh the horror, to be so small and vulnerable and misunderstood!  That’s when I miss my mother the most.  She would protect me.

I’m so lonely without any of my kind. There was a big black dog but she disappeared.  It was comforting to be around her, although I know she didn’t like me much.  Sometimes when she slept I would snuggle next to her and pretend she was my mother.  If she woke up and found me there, she would growl and move away, which hurt my feelings.  It doesn’t matter, because now she is gone, and I am alone again.

Tonight at bedtime I will ask the Young One to pick me up and put me on the bed.  I will go to sleep and dream about my mother’s beautiful brown eyes, and wish she were with me.

It is dark outside.

It is dark outside.

About Harper

I was adopted from The Humane Society. I was separated from my twin brother and don't know where he is.

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