Dinky, along with her brother, was abandoned to starve or freeze during the very first winter of their lives. The story of how Dinky and Sparky came to join our household is here.

I am at a loss as to how anyone could have disregarded Dinky.

She was a character, plain and simple--a lot of personality packed in a seven-pound package. She wore a shaggy harlequin coat of red and black with dainty white feet and a bib. Her curly tail arched over her back like a husky's, a flirtatious pom-pom of fluff. She attacked life with zeal and verve, our resident busy-body who was always the first on the scene of any excitement. She bounced, trotted, dashed--never walked--through life.

She was engaging and people-oriented, insisting on knowing who was in the bathroom or visiting downstairs or what I was doing on the computer. She wasn't demonstrative in Punkin's theatrical fashion, so it took me a while to realize just how devoted she was to me, never too far from my side no matter what I was doing and sleeping curled against me all night long, my constant companion who revealed her fierce loyalty with her unwavering attention. She had been abandoned once. Now--having found people worthy of her love--she never let us forget her.

She was a joy to live with.

I thought--when I noticed that she had lost some weight--that she might be developing hyper-thyroid. We went to visit the vet in February of 2006 and learned the grim news: Dinky's kidneys were failing. There was no cure and no way to reverse the damage. All we could hope to do was slow the progression of the disease.

That entailed daily administration of fluids under the skin to help flush toxins from her bloodstream. Dinky, being an opinionated member of an opinionated folk, disliked the process so much that she would vanish if she saw me preparing her fluids. Getting her to hold still for the three or four minutes it took was always a challenge and she would dash off the minute I released her with an "All done!"

But, being Dinky, she would be back at my side or on my lap within five minutes, all forgiven, if not forgotten.

We could not stop time but we bought her ten good months with our efforts, ten months to deepen our appreciation of her in the sure knowledge that we couldn't keep her as long as we wanted, that twelve years wasn't nearly long enough. Her time was mostly good--only in the last few weeks did she seem to not feel well, spending most of her time sleeping. The end came quickly--a few days when it was obvious that we were moving toward the final goodbye. And then she was gone.

I have been privileged to share my life with several remarkable cats. I will always be glad I knew Dinky, knew her love and had the opportunity to love her in return. And I will always wish we had had more time.