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In memory of Queen Thusnelda Marie Russell-Edwards
Thusnelda was the sixth kitty and the first Tortie to join our growing family. Kismet was the first, then Mini, Lucifer, and Cini and Tuffy -- two of Mini & Lulu's kittens. They were all wonderful and much-loved kitties, and their stories will eventually be told here, but because Tuzi was the first Queen of the Castle, Bitsy demanded that I honor her now.
In 1977, my former husband and I lived in Highland Park, a little corner of Los Angeles. As usual, I was having car trouble, and stopped at a small automotive repair shop in the predominately Mexican neighborhood near our home to have it checked. As I was waiting I saw a tiny black-speckled kitten wandering among the cars there to be worked on. She would jump up onto the manifolds of cars with the hoods opened, and I was afraid she might injure herself somehow. She seemed interested in me, though, and stood looking up at me, so I said to her,"Whose kitty are you?" She answered with a soft but scratchy "Meow," a little like a Siamese cry. The mechanic saw me talking to her and said, "That cat don't live here. You want that cat? If you want that cat, you take her." Of course I wanted her, because I had fallen in love with her--but, would Ron be mad if I brought another cat home? And did this kitty belong to someone in the neighborhood? I decided quickly--Ron could get mad, then get glad--and if she did belong to someone, what was she doing in this potentially dangerous place? I thanked the mechanic, picked up the little girl, and got into my car. All the way home she nestled against my thigh, purring loudly.
Ron wasn't too happy about another cat, but quickly gave in, even providing a name for her. We had been listening to a selection on a PDQ Bach recording called "The Triumphs of Thusnelda", and Ron immediately christened her "Queen Thusnelda". And I immediately began calling her Tuzi.
She and the other cats ignored each other. She was Queen, and she was Mommy's Cat, and that was that.
Tuzi was not docile and compliant--she had a mind of her own, and was quite bossy at times. Once she was lying on my lap, purring happily, and I said to her teasingly, but softly, "Tuzi's a bad girl." She jumped up, slapped me smartly on the face with both paws, then jumped off my lap and left the room. Was that a lesson! Face-slapping Mommy became a habit when she was annoyed, or just tired of lying in my lap. I soon learned to be wary while holding her.
When she was about six months old she had a horrible experience--apparently she had come into heat, and when I got home from work one day I saw her running up and down the patio, pursued by Old Whitey, a stray we fed. Her fur was bedraggled and she looked exhausted. I managed to catch her and put her in the house, where she collapsed and slept for hours. The poor baby must have been running to avoid rape all day. It wasn't really funny, but I had to laugh. She was promptly scheduled for spaying--another funny story.
We were trying to put her in the cat-carrier, but she fought us fiercely, and wouldn't go in. I called the vet and asked if it would be safe to give her some Valium. He said yes, about 10mg should do it. 10mg! I only took 5mg at a time myself, so I gave her a 5mg tablet. We waited for it to take effect, which it seemed to be doing, then we tried again to place her in the carrier. No luck, she was as wild as before. I decided the vet had been right, and we gave her another 5mg. Instead of calming her down, it made her twice as wild. I don't even remember now how we got her into the carrier, but we must have managed, for the next day when we went to pick her up the vet said to her, "Someone's been telling stories about you." He told us that she had been very good--they had had no trouble with her at all.
Tuzi was a writer of sorts. She loved the sound of my IBM Selectric, and came running whenever I turned it on, She would hop on my lap and put her paws on the keys. In those days, I had to use white-out for errors, and many bottles were used because of Tuzi. Tuzi couldn't spell, though she probably had some good story ideas.
Our house was located on a cul-de-sac in a hilly area, with lots of space between it and the other houses in that development. It was almost like living in the country. We had snakes, squirrels, possums, raccoons and skunks, and oh yes, sad to say--coyotes. They ran along a drain on the hill beside our house at night, giving out the most chilling, blood-curdling cries I ever heard. I had a slider in the cat door, which I closed every night after I got the kids in. Tuzi liked to go down the hill in front of the house to visit, and she wouldn't always come when I called or whistled for her. I worried that those half-starved coyotes would get her some night--as I believe they later did several of our cats who disappeared--but Tuzi was smart. In the eight years she lived there, she always turned up safe and sound.
Between 1982 and 1985, Ron and I separated and divorced, and Tim came along. By 1985 the family consisted of seven kitties, not counting some who had passed on previously. Tim and I and the kids moved to a smaller house in the same area. When we moved from L.A. to Indiana in 1988, we took along twelve cats. Tuzi was kept in a carrier by herself, as she would not tolerate being enclosed with any of the others.
Upon arriving in Indiana she was crowned Queen of Morgantown at once, and retained the throne for four more years. In the last year or so with us she had lost some weight and slept a lot more than usual, but she was nearly fifteen by that time. She didn't seem ill, so we assumed it was due to aging. She seldom went outside now, and when she did she never left the deck, let alone the yard. One day I looked for her--she wasn't in the house, so I went outside and called her. No Tuzi. She never came in again, and never came back from where she went. We called, and we searched, for days and weeks, but there was no trace of her. I still wonder--did she know she was dying and leave to spare us watching her do so? Or did dignity prompt her to go away to die in privacy? Was she chased away from home by a dog or some wild creature? I'll never know. I do know I loved her deeply, and will always miss her--my little Satin Doll with velvet paws and turquoise eyes--my Special Girl--my Tootie-Boots.
When I planned this page, I asked Clyde Big Paws if he would compose some special music for it, as Tuzi was such a Special Cat. He graciously agreed to do so, and I'm honored to present it here.
