An Easter Remembrance

On Saturday, it will be a year since Tungsten died. I think of my orange friend all the time. I recently went through a collection of photographs I took some years ago, and found a number of Tungsten which I don’t believe I have published before. I’ll share them now in view of this melancholy anniversary, a fitting remembrance at Easter, its commemoration of death, and celebration of life.

She liked the armchair, did my Tungsten, especially before I purchased the small cat-beds. She could often be found rolled up in a corner of its cushion. But in this instance, she seemed rather alert and ready for whatever I wanted to do.

There were times when she was just too much at ease to be amused by my attempts to involve her in anything. Sometimes, humans can be more of a bother than a help, I’m sure cats think.

She spent a year and a half as my only cat. Looking back, I think she was content with that, and after the advent of the other beasts, she likely recalled her solitary state as my sole pet with fondness. Her initial relations with Josie were tumultuous, though they grew more placid. And once Renn learned his place, he and the tiny terror became friends, sort of.

Tungsten wasn’t one for playing, really, but she did have her bursts of fun. Of this toy she appeared rather possessive, at least at the time the picture was taken…

But more than playing, she liked simply lying on my lap. She has been my only real lap-cat. Though the others will spend time there, it is an intermittent thing with them. The orange one was very often there, and would curl herself around my hand; the feel of it on her tummy gave her comfort, I think.

A very light eater, she was undemanding when it came to her food-bowls. Her drinking was the opposite. She would lap water from cups but preferred a dripping tap, for which she would usually call. Below, you will note the filled cup to the right, an early attempt to combine her desire for water at the bathroom basin with my desire not to have to get up every time she was thirsty.

But Tungsten was very little trouble, and the dividends of what effort she demanded were great. She was a wonderful companion and good friend, a worthy advertisement for her species. I was told that orange females are a rarity. If so, it was truly fitting that Tungsten was orange. She was a rarity indeed.