In Memory of Chucky

Ever since I was a little little kid, I dreamed of having a cat. Not a dog (I was and am in some ways still terrified of them), but a sweet cuddly cat. Much to my delight, my wish was granted on my 10th birthday when my parents told me I could get a kitten of my own. Soon after, I went with my mom and younger brother to a pet shop to look at kittens, convinced that I would take one of them home with me. I saw this one kitten that I liked, but my mom had doubts because it seemed somewhat skittish and aggressive. We left the pet shop so I could think it over and then returned back for one more look. While we were there, I looked up to the top of the cages and saw a cute little orange and white striped kitten, and I fell in love. I wanted to name our new kitten Chuckster (don't ask why, who can explain the rationale of a ten year old mind?), but my mom said calling "Hear Chuckster, Chuckster, Chuckster... " would be hard to say (she was right)... so though his full name was Chuckster Paul Chaffey we just called him Chucky.

Chucky was a great cat. He was a Manx mix meaning that he had the great personality of the tail-less Manx but with a tail. He liked to eat, so he was a rather large cat, but he also had a very friendly personality. When workmen came over, he would purr and roll over and roll around in their took kits; he was content to be constantly held by my brother and I, and he even went on walks (which is a story for another time). He was born April 1st of the year I turned 10; so since we shared the same birthday month, it has been easy for me to remember his age.

I saw Chucky in May when Eric and I went to see our parents, and he was still as great a cat as ever. This past weekend, my parents let us know that he had stopped being interested in eating and was hardly moving around, and yesterday, it was time for him to go. He's been my only pet I've had and lost, and I think that he will be hard to replace. Maybe your first pet is always the best.