Amber Kindle Orkin, The Cartoon Cat

by Steven B. Orkin

On Saturday, June 15^th, a little light winked out of the world. Amber Kindle was our gorgeous tortoise-shell cat who passed away just after noon on Saturday. ‘Amber’ was the name given to her by the shelter. Since she was already three years old, I decided she should keep it. ‘Kindle’ is the name of a character in a children’s book I’ve been adapting for a young adult audience. In the story, Kindle is a magical being who can turn himself into fire (Kindle is a girl in my adaptation). With her feisty, passionate spirit and sparks of orange rippling through her coal-black fur (among other colors), the name suited her beautifully.

Though not a long-hair cat, Amber’s fur was quite thick and had a scruffy quality that often made her look like she’d just rolled out of bed. Her paws were jet-black, giving them a mitten-like quality in comparison to the rest of her fur, and she had a long, thick, almost raccoon-like tail. With her close-set golden eyes and dark, scruffy fur, Amber generally had an expression which conveyed that she would just as soon kill you as look at you, but she was nevertheless deeply loving, tough, strong, brave, funny, and occasionally exasperating. 

Having spent a good part of her previous life in a shelter, Amber had to learn to play. In her early days, she would get so excited when we’d use string-based toys or laser pointers with her, she’d spin around in circles and bolt from the room to burn off excess energy and excitement. 

For these and other reasons, I often told visitors that I believed Amber Kindle had escaped from a cartoon, and I stand by that assessment.

Amber came to us via North Shore Animal League in December 2015, when she was three years old. I had decided to adopt a slightly older cat as a surprise Chanukah present for Nancy and Julianna. After doing some searching on North Shore’s website and going to the shelter to meet her, I set up a time to pick her up and bring her home on a quiet Saturday afternoon.

After telling Nan & Jules that I indeed had a surprise Chanukah gift, I had them close their eyes as I brought Amber into our downstairs office. I will never forget Amber’s scruffy head popping up out of that cardboard carrier as they opened it up and laughed in delight.

From there, things got decidedly less quiet as Amber proceeded to attempt a takeover of our home, which included terrorizing our year-old littermates, Grace and Daisy Mae. With her tough-girl stride, self-assured attitude, and surprising strength and speed, she was proving quite successful in this regard, but with some help from the behavioral specialist from North Shore (my wife, Nancy likes to say our cats were in therapy during that period), we ultimately managed to get everything settled down. Though the three cats (which eventually became four with the addition of our tuxedo cat, Novella) were never exactly chummy, they all worked out their differences and for the most part, managed to peacefully coexist together.

Hilariously, our recent addition, Valentino, a male cat who has likewise been driving his sisters crazy, was thoroughly intimidated by the tiny, six-pound Amber Kindle. He has been chasing the others all over the house, but studiously avoided tasking his formidable elder.

Amber was very affectionate, often jumping onto our laps and affording us a friendly head bump in anticipation of being petted, or just sitting contentedly on or near us as we did whatever. She was generally very social, enjoying being around people even if she wasn’t necessarily in the mood to be directly interacted with. She was curious, as all cats are, and had a penchant for drinking out of our water glasses, presumably for the ‘better’ water. In her last year, as a result of her illness, she was often voraciously hungry, and would routinely attempt to investigate our meals, retrieve scraps from the kitchen trash (Nancy recently woke on the couch to find the 'gift' of a chicken bone resting peacefully atop her, a gift from our cartoon cat). With our vet's blessing, we gave her pretty much whatever she wanted to eat, and she was especially fond of rotisserie chicken from the supermarket, as well as deli ham and roast beef. 

Amber adored my daughter Julianna, and took good care of her, a debt I can never repay. She loved sleeping near Julianna at night, often responding to Jules’s declaration of, “Ambi, it’s bedtime!” by trotting down the hall and jumping up onto her bed right next to her pillow. She also had a penchant for bounding on top of Nancy or myself at night or in early morning, landing with an unceremonious thump and wandering up and down our backs, shoulders, stomachs, and legs before settling into position or head-butting us for some affection.

Like Joey on ‘Friends’, Amber. Doesn’t. Share. Food! Her low, fearsome growl would rumble from her like a freight train on the move whenever one of the other cats approached her while she was eating. A similar effect occurred at the vet when any dogs got too close. On one occasion, Amber swiped through her cat carrier at a rather large dog who had looked inside to investigate. A minute or so later, Nancy said to the owner, “Is your dog okay? He’s growling.” The dog owner replied, “Lady, that’s your cat.” 

Amber LOVED drinking from the bathtub faucet, and would hurry over to the bathroom door whenever it was opened. We would often hear Nancy exclaim, "No! Mommy needs privacy! Mommy needs - Oh, all right, FINE! Come on..."

Amber faced formidable health challenges over the course of the last year or so, having been afflicted with a rare dental condition resulting in all of her teeth being removed. She was regrettably in a very small percentage of patients that never fully spring back from that procedure, and ultimately, more health issues ensued. As with humans, it’s rarely one thing that proves fatal. It’s a combination of factors, and this was certainly the case with our courageous little cat. She was strong, and brave, and bursting with life. She tried so hard to compensate for her illnesses and most certainly wanted to live. Our vet was amazed that she was so active in light of her challenges. It’s always a terrible tragedy when mind is not able to overcome matter, and ultimately, her body just wasn’t able to continue functioning. 

It’s a heart-wrenching, excruciating decision to say goodbye to an animal companion. You can’t explain the situation to them, and you invariably second-guess yourself as to whether you did the right thing. On an intellectual level, you know you did, but emotions aren’t as easily convinced. Certainly, Amber Kindle knew we loved her, and we knew she loved us. At the end of the day, that’s the greatest gift you can give anyone, be they human, feline, or anything else.

My family and I will never forget our little cartoon cat. She brightened our lives enormously, and we did our best to make sure that we did the same for her. I’d like to think we succeeded. Though we are devasted by the loss of her, we are so glad she was here.

May God bless her loving, feisty little spirit…

Thank you for reading.

~~~

 Amber Kindle Orkin

April 15, 2012 – June 15, 2019