Tasha

I think it was about 1991 or 92 when my mom came home with a little calico kitten, smiled sweetly at my dad and said she followed her home and he had to keep her. We had always been a cat family and usually had about 2-3 at a time. We got Tasha as we knew our older cat at the time Shoe (Yes, I named him when I was 2) was getting close to passing himself and we had Ninja (named for his ferociousness as a kitten) who was probably about 5 by that time.


Tasha was a kitten in the fullest sense. Ready to attack and kill every random piece of paper, every bug and even out dangerous toes. My mom named her Tasha after Tasha Yar from Star Trek: TNG because she was so feisty. And she lived up to her name. Tasha was never a very big cat, but I don’t think anyone ever told her. When she was only a few months old she fended off a really bad flea infestation. I mean bad. For the rest of her life she wanted you to scratch her forehead because of all the bites he had there. Poor thing. As she grew she would take on other neighborhood cats, opossums, and build herself as queen amongst the other cats in the house. Whenever we got a new kitten, she would walk up to them, smack them around a bit and walk away.

She never had any problem telling you exactly what was on her mind or how she felt about things. She would let out a big meow to let you know what was what. She would even come in just to yell at you for a bit and then walk away. But she was a lover too. As I said she loved to have her forehead scratched and she would just be so content sleeping next to you, you could hear her purring in the next room.

When she was a few years old, I can’t remember when exactly my mom went to try and get her into the house and found her sitting on some stuff in the carport her face all bloody and smashed and having a hard time breathing. To this day we still don’t know what happened. We think she was running from something and ran onto a wall. We couldn’t afford to take her to the ER vet at the time, so we waited to see if she would make it through the night. The next morning my mom took her to our regular vet (who is always gracious with cost). Apparently a cat’s skull is split down the center. Tahsa had broken her face in 3 places and had multiple fractures. The vet did surgery to wire her skull back together. She recovered really well given the circumstances, but for the rest of her life she never breathed or purred quietly. Even her meow after that was downright ugly. Not so much a meow, but a screech. But she knew she was tough as nails and would be willing to take on anyone who questioned that.

As she got older we realized she was losing her eyesight. But she always knew the sound of our voices and would get so happy every time I called her. I began calling her Aunt Slappy because that’s what her attitude reminded me of. Sort of an “I’m old and tired so unless you’re gonna scratch my head or give me canned food, fuckoff” type of attitude.

Up until about 2 years ago she was able to maintain her dominance in her house. Only when my mom got her 2 new kittens that she lost the desire to smack them around and they would pick on her. So she spent most of her time in my parent’s room. She was scrawny, her fur was thin, she was blind, breathed like an emphysema patient, and had a meow that could wake you up from a sound sleep at its softest when she finally passed away this morning. But she was a good tough girl and one of the sweetest cats we ever had. I’ll certainly never forget her and I will always miss her. Good bye my Tasha-Baby-Girl.