I know I’ve written about Kitsch before but scanning in photos, I (finally) found my favorite photo of her and felt she needed an encore.

Kitsch was a teensy little tortie.  An ugly or useless piece of art.  It suited her because she was a little goofy looking, often not useful, and a total piece of art. 

She had thumbs (polydactyl), and she knew how to use them.  She liked to carry pens and pencils around – for reasons known only to herself.  She could turn on the water at one of our sinks – very handy for her, since she loved water.

She loved water to the extent that I had to lock her out of the bathroom when I’d take a bath because she would jump in with me. 

Her favorite thing to eat was the sauce from Spaghettios. 

She never weighed more than 7 pounds (soaking wet – which was her preferred state). 

And “Though she be but little she is fierce.”

She killed a big ass rat once! She was so proud and I was so horrified (as said rat was in our house).

When she got really old she only had one tooth left in her punkin’ head; and she would hiss and growl like anything – she had the vet staff totally cowed – even though I pointed out it was all a bluff and the worst she could do was put a little red mark on you (which would quickly fade away).

She was so happy when I moved to San Jose and got married, because in Kitsch’s considered opinion, my husband was “dreamy”.  She’d stand or lay on his chest and just stare at him. 

She lived until age 21 (I think).  Dying in her sleep on afternoon when I had to be out of the house. 

She did have a sense of style, though, as evidenced by this photo of her (my favorite cat photo of all time): 

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