Better than a Turtle

When my daughter was eleven, she asked me for a kitten. We already had a cat, a mild-mannered shelter rescue named Zoey, an American Bombay with polydactyl paws. I didn’t feel the need for another cat, but my daughter persisted. My husband and I explained that if she truly wanted a kitten from the animal shelter, she would have to save her weekly allowance money in order to prove to me that this goal was genuine. The adoption fee was $160. We gave her $10 a week, and when she had made it halfway to her goal, her grandmother stepped in and asked if she could be allowed to meet her the other half of the way. They are both keen animal lovers, so we said yes.

Adoption day arrived and our older son decided to join our daughter in the selection process. They came home with Lewis, a white kitten who looked more like a grumpy cow than the cutesy kittens I had been imagining. I remember telling them that this cat was, well, not what I would have chosen.

My daughter replied, “It was him or a turtle. They had no other kittens.”

Lewis was barely more charming than a turtle. His two facial expressions were “hostile” and “grumpy.” It became quickly evident that our new cat needed a more fitting name than what the shelter had bestowed upon him.

Lewis reminded us of the main character of a rather dark American children’s cartoon called Invader Zim. “The series centers on an extraterrestrial named Zim from the planet Irk, and his mission is to conquer Earth and enslave the human race. Zim is delusional, very short, overzealous, narcissistic, and megalomaniacal.” (Wikipedia)

After realizing that Lewis had this very type of temperament – we rechristened him “Zim.” As we already had Zoey, having two Z-named cats felt natural.

Zoey was hostile to Zim’s presence at first, which was to be expected as she had a good six years of seniority on him. Zoey would put Zim in his place by grabbing a hold of his head with all those extra toes on her paws, flipping him onto the ground, and then aggressively grooming him against his will until he relented to her maternal ministrations.

We tried to keep Zim indoors, as all the literature says indoor cats live the longest. Zim protested our wisdom by continuing to be a miserable roommate to all of us. Then the day arrived when he spotted his opportunity to ‘conquer Earth and enslave the human race.’ He waited until I had the front door open for a second too long and made his escape. Harry Houdini would have been very proud. Zim would never be shackled by his dumb Earthling jailor ever again! If he could have laughed in my face, it definitely would have sounded like, “Moo-ha-ha…”

When Zim returned from his foray into freedom, it was a metamorphosis nothing short of miraculous. Not only had we been keeping him from fresh air but also mass murder. All he had needed to unwind was… a good killing.

Every. Single. Day.

I had adopted a serial killer, and the neighborhood was his buffet. My neighbors called me one day and reported that Zim was making his regular rounds within a few feet of their bird feeder. Zim would surreptitiously hide under a nearby pine tree and then some poor unsuspecting bird would meet its grisly end as Zim would explode into the air to devour his feathered snack. Thankfully the neighbors didn’t try to take his fun away, they actually respected his dedication to his craft.

I felt fairly guilty when I realized ( while mowing another neighbor’s grass) how many rodents Zim had left as ‘presents’ in their yard. I won’t lie, accidentally mowing over a dead mouse is pretty nasty – and squishy – but I admired the fact that Zim was working hard to keep the neighborhood free of vermin.

Zim was a carnivore indoors as well. If he heard the subtle crinkle of a deli meat package opening, he would politely pat your leg with his front paws until you caved in and shared.

This unfriendly killer had a soft side as well. When I would take my two-mile walks in the cemetery across the street from our house, Zim decided he would keep me safe by following me the entire route. People would be taken aback by his devotion and ask me, “Is that your cat?” I would proudly lay claim to my four-footed serial killer.

My husband works at night and when he would arrive home in the morning, he would whistle for Zim, just like you would with a loyal dog and Zim would come running to be let inside from his midnight madness so he could sleep enough to be powered up for another round of lethal love.

This past Sunday, the final whistle came. After six years of faithful service, Zim came inside and settled himself into his favorite chair to fall asleep and his heart simply stopped. Our daughter heard his final breath and told my husband.

Although this was heartbreaking news to wake up to, my husband inadvertently made me laugh when he delivered the news to me.

He said, “You have to wake up, we have a total catastrophe downstairs.” I heard – “Cat- astrophe.”

Zim was such a brat, that I know he would have loved that his death notice was turned into an accidental pun.

We are all at such a loss without Zim, also known as Zimmy, Zimbabwe, Zim-Zim- A-la-bim. Especially our sweet Zoey, who continues to look for him, which brings me to tears daily. One of Zim’s final acts of service was keeping me company this past week while I was sick with pneumonia. Staying inside was not his preference but he stayed with me on my bed, as if to keep me from getting up and overdoing it.

I take comfort in this scripture which a dear friend recently reminded me of.

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.” Matthew 10:29 -30. NIV

No creature, no man, dies unnoticed by our loving Father. God knew exactly how many heartbeats Zim would have, and through His infinite mercy, He allowed Zim to be home and asleep when he died, surrounded by all those who love him.

And for the record, my dear Invader Zim – you were WAY better than a turtle.

Dedicated with love to all the tiny creatures that take up such a large part of our hearts.

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