"As the ivy climbs along the walls, so must the pen along the paper."
For to tell one's story, in prose or poetry, one must dissolve time of its weight and fly free through the syntax of memory.

Zinger first came into my life as the “grey kitten” of the litter that my friend Sheree’s cat Zephyr had birthed in Riverton, New Zealand, around the end of 2006, or the start of 2007. It had only been a few weeks since my first cat, Hazel Nutbar with Nougat and Honey, had passed away after being hit by a car. My friend invited a group of us over to her place and explained that the owner of the property would only allow one pet to live in the house with the tenants. It was far too soon for me to take a kitten after the death of Hazel, I explained. But as each bundle of fur bounced around the room, climbing and clinging to sofa sides, playing with trouser ends, rolling and tumbling over one another, and chasing each other between friendly legs, the one and only grey kitten born from a tabby (see photo), started sniffing around my feet, and then tried attacking my toes, before jumping over my feet and swinging around my ankles. Sheree quickly quipped with a pointed finger, “That one’s yours.” My protests were useless as the other friends chimed in “She’s chosen you – you can’t reject her now, Warwick!” And so it was. I had a new cat enter my life. 

I was hardly serious with the naming of my previous cat, Hazel. My first pet since a child living on the farm, and one that had been born from a stray under the porch of the flat that I was living in at the time on Pomona Street. One day her brown tabby eyes looked up at me (and to be honest, in that pose, she kind of had a face like Darth Vader), and the name ‘Hazel’ came easily. But the rest of the name was both a symptom of her craziness as a kitten hiding behind a shower curtain and jumping out at you like a mini Godzilla, and my fondness for all things caramel. So Hazel Nutbar with Nougat was the result. 

With this new grey one in my life, I carried on the tradition:

• Zinger Burger Zephyrova Grey

Zinger Burgers weren’t even my favourite Burger King burgers, but I liked the feel of the name. And she came to really suit it.

I had already been at the flat on Pomona Street for a year or two, and relationships with my younger flatmates was a little strained. We moved onto Ythan Street with two other (very hippy) flatmates. These cold walls became our home for the next 2 or so years, and fond memories of the growing kitten include feeding Zinger one morning before leaving for class and returning home to a whining meow that revealed, when I opened my bedroom door, Zinger’s head stuck in the catfood can! I felt so stupid (for leaving the can in the room), and so sorry for her – I had no idea how long she had had her head stuck in the can: whether it was all day, or just half the day. But boy, did she look relieved when I pulled the can off her meaty-plastered head!

After deciding nothing could be done with a music degree except teach music, I left Invercargill in 2008 for 6 months to do 3 English papers at Massey University as a second subject to support the post-graduate teaching diploma I would pursue in 2009. I had given the care of Zinger to my new flatmate, who was very keen to put a bell around Zinger’s neck to warn the birds of her presence. “Please don’t put anything around her neck,” I asked. I absolutely hate collars on cats. And as much as I love birds and want them to live fulfilling lives circling the skies, I also accept that cats are predators, and that is just a part of their nature. I returned in the winter of 2008 to find Zinger with a collar around her neck. I took it off immediately. My flatmate rolled her eyes.

Once I decided to become a teacher, I no longer wanted to live in unclean and neglected student flats ('flats' in NZ are often the older large family houses that accommodate more bedrooms for students to rent out), and upon starting the diploma I quickly moved into the clean, tidy, and warm house of an already established teacher. Unfortunately, Zinger didn’t like the sudden change of environment and clawed her way out of my hands before I got her through the front door and bolted for the fence at the back of the property. Three days I was calling her name, morning and night, and eventually she peeked her head out from behind a bush and came to me. I carried her inside and fed her straight away. That year went by, and the owner was moving to a new job out of town. But he knew another teacher who had a room available and was happy to have a cat. We travelled there with Zinger in the car whining about moving again – something she just wasn’t keen on – but this time, she stayed in my arms as I took her inside. She was really a very polite cat who gave owners of houses no trouble at all. I, on the other hand...
 
Life in Invercargill hit a wall. Friendships dissolved, opportunities were scarce, and I needed to find my own feet again. So I packed up my belongings into my car, placed a litter tray on the floor of the front passenger seat, spread a top bed blanket over the stack of belongings in the back, and let poor, whining about moving again, Zinger have the freedom to move around as we travelled three days back to Gisborne, stopping in Christchurch for the night. When we got to Picton, the next available ferry wasn’t until after midnight, so I parked up at a sports field to bide the time as night descended. Legs felt a little cramped from driving all day, so I got out for a midnight stretch. But as I went to the passenger side to grab something in the front seat, Zinger bounced across from the back and jumped out the door and disappeared! I was in a panic. There were no sports field lights on, it was pitch black, and Zinger was never one for making lots of noises, in general, a pretty quiet cat all and all. I called out, found my phone, turned on the flashlight, and walked around the field calling out her name over and over. 5 minutes went by, and after panicking and cursing myself, Zinger sticks her head out from behind a power box that I had my flashlight on, and she walked (very casually) back to me. I think she just wanted a break from the car! Have a stretch of her legs and have a toilet break outside, just like me!

My all-time favourite memory of Zinger occurred after the ferry arrived in Wellington and I drove off the ramps, out of the shipping yard, and onto State Highway 2 at about 4 o’clock in the morning, and Zinger, who had been hiding under the front passenger seat (possibly for the entire sea voyage!), finally came out, sat up on the seat, looked about her, and then walked over onto my lap and under my arms while I was driving at 100km/hr up the motorway, and climbed her front paws up the driver side door to look out the window at all the bright lights passing us by. I felt her sense of quiet now. No more whining, just sad acceptance of travelling again.

We arrived in Gisborne at my Mum and Dad’s 7 hours later, and from there she become the permanent third household member of the home that I spent my latter teenager years in. While I began my teaching career in Gisborne, and lived with Mum and Dad off and on, I was also looking for jobs out of town, and I knew deep down that there was never going to be a guarantee that I would settle down, so I handed the reins of cat care over to my parents permanently. They did a great job of accepting her (though, initially, my father was a bit diffident, having been a farmer and more used to farm dogs and horses). But they all soon grew to enjoy each others company, and even my aunty Cilla found joy coming over and feeding her when Mum and Dad were away. 

I know she lived a wonderful 15 years in Gisborne, and met many of my parents’ friends and relatives, caught the regular mouse and occasional sparrow, ran for her life down to the backyard to hide when my sister turned up with her non-stop yapping chihuahua, and also accompanied Mum up to the end of the drive to make sure she got off to her morning walk safe and sound. And every time I came home for a visit, she was ready to have me sweep her up in my arms again. 

The last time I saw her was in February when I returned to Gisborne for a few days. She was looking older, moved slower, but she still came over and welcomed my attention as I scratched and rubbed under her chin, dribble happily falling from her lips. 

Thank you to Sheree for gifting this beautiful daughter of Zephyr to me.
And thank you to the flatmates who let Zinger into their lives and took care of her when I wasn't around. 
And thank you to Mum & Dad for their wonderful attention to Zinger, accepting her, buying her food, taking her to the vet, and giving her the best home any pet could ask for. 

Zinger B. Grey, 2007 - 2025