She showed up at their house eight years ago, and what else was there to do but keep her? She was the sweetest, simplest little cat you'll ever meet. She had a sense of innocence that made it impossible to be unhappy with her. And yes, those eyes.
Her head was permanently tilted, giving her a forever questioning expression. We don't know for sure what sort of injury or illness she had to make her that way, but she didn't let her tiltiness stop her. If she lost her balance and tipped over, she just got right back up.
She wasn't the brightest cat in the world, but her perpetual confusion only added to her charm. If she had been a cartoon character, she would have been drawn with a question mark thought bubble--and that would have represented what was going on in her mind pretty accurately.
Over the past couple of years, she developed nasal polyps that caused her to snort and wheeze. You could hear her coming from the next room, grunting and tilting all the way. Still, every day was Casper's great adventure--discovering things all over again that she'd rediscovered and reforgotten just the day before, ad infinitum.
My lady. I knew when I said goodbye to her last Christmas that it could very well be the last time I saw her. I've gotten into the habit of making those little moments count now that my trips to Michigan are so few and far between. Still, I'm sure that the next time I'm home I'll have to gently remind myself that I don't need to go find out which room Casper's lost in.
The next time I see a falling star, I'll know it was my twinkle girl, saying her goodbye.