I adopted my sweet black kitty in October 1998. She had been at the shelter for over 5 months and had developed more than a little roll around her middle from lying around there all day. She purred so loudly when my friend LJL put her in my arms that I knew it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Her name, according to the records, was P.J. Her previous family had written in the shelter questionnaire that she was 5 years old. They had taken her in when neighbors had moved away a few years before and were unable to take her along. This second family brought her to the shelter because, they stated, allergies made it impossible to keep her. After I got her home and looked more closely at the veterinary records the original family had kept, I saw one page dated January 1990. She was nearly 9 years old, at the very least.

I didn’t love the name P.J., ‘cause I figured it was short for something ending in "Junior" which generally means the animal was named for a previous pet. I decided I should stick with the name, though, since she surely was accustomed to it. But she never responded to the name. The second night in my apartment, I called to her from my bed to see if she would join me for a snuggle as she had, unprompted, the night before. I called out "P.J.!" and waited. Nothing. Again I called. Waited. Nothing. Several minutes later, I tried out the name that I felt fit her better. "Zelda!" I called. The reaction was instantaneous. She scampered into the bedroom and leapt onto the bed. Zelda she would be.

I had imagined a different name for a black cat. Something like Oprah or Aretha, perhaps. But this cat seemed like she needed an even more special name. Zelda was the name of a favorite great-aunt, one of my paternal grandmother’s sisters. There was no video game by that name at the time, and it wasn’t likely to be a name I would choose for a child some day. The name was a perfect fit, and so was the kitty.

Zelda, the green-eyed, shiny black kitty, died this morning at 9:15 a.m. EST at the approximate age of 12-1/2. She had spinal lymphoma. Zelda is survived by her primary human, Shelley; two allergic aunts, Jaded Ju and L. Ju; her bubbie, Mother Ju (who was so proud to have a grandcat since none of her children have seen fit to provide her with the human equivalent); her fairy godmother, LJL, who saw her first; and her loving uncles, the RP and SCM families, who survived her wrath when her main human was away.

Zelda enjoyed lying on top of humans, chasing shoelaces, making noseprints on windows, clawing at the underside of new red sofas, having her belly rubbed and her chin scratched, eating, and sleeping. She was particularly talented in organizing paperwork (especially bills), "Eskimo kissing" (nose-to-nose)(hey, I hope that’s not a slur), and finding the one slice of sunshine on the floor to nap in. She was also quite adept at physical contortion when necessary. A friend once dubbed her Chubby Cat, and the name stuck. Another dear friend clarified that she was simply big-boned, but Big-Boned Cat didn’t have the same ring to it. In lieu of flowers, please hold your own pet(s) extra close. If no pet is available, I would love it if you would drop me a note at cynicallifeATaolDOTcom and/or make a small donation to your favorite charity in her memory. Services will be private.