“On no,” you’re thinking. A story about a cat. Well, yes, but it’s Winnie, the Winnie of Winnie Wednesdays on Facebook (ok, that never really took off) and the Winnie for whom I wrote a poem. He’s exceptionally exceptional, this Winnie.
He was described in PetFinders as a “Lynx Point Siamese,” when I was cat-hunting. “Lynx Point Siamese” appears to be code for “mixed up tabby and Siamese.” He has the meezer blue eyes, now somewhat sunken with age at almost 18, the pale stripy “points” on his legs, and ears that are a darker gray than his head. But Winnie is more like an adorable Frankenstein for one reason: something doesn’t fit. Doesn’t match. Looks as if it’s there by accident.
His tail.
It’s a short, dark gray striped tail, whereas the rest of his coloring is soft and muted. It’s as if his tail was sourced at a Cat Chop Shop from discarded cat tails. I’m imagining the guy on the Lynx Point Siamese assembly line going to Supply and found out there were no OEM Lynx Point Siamese tails in stock. So he goes to the foreman and tells him, “Frank, we’re out of Lynx Point Siamese tails.” And Frank, under pressure because he’s got a Lynx Point Siamese quota (they are very popular these days), tells him,”Just go over to CCS and see if they’ve got something with gray stripes and let’s hope Management never notices.”
They were right, I never noticed. Until I did. Now I can’t un-see it, and it makes me giggle each time I ask him, “so what’s with this tail, huh?”
But it’s attached to the cutest, sweetest cat, a cat who greets me every time I look at him, who loves to give anyone near him a cat bath, who purrs happily at even the smallest bit of attention, so really, who cares?