No big deal. We found Binky and immediately fell in love with him.

Binky and Wingnut were together for twelve years. Every day (except the night Binky spent at the vet after his tooth extraction and the almost two weeks Wingnut spent at the vet after all of his surgeries for his UTIs.

The last week or so before we lost Binky, he and Wingnut spent a fair bit of time together. Whether that was because Wingnut knew what was happening or because Binky was giving off a vibe… I don’t know.

They were close when they were younger, but after Wingnut’s surgeries…he was always a little touched in the head, and the two of them weren’t glued to one another’s sides any longer.

But the last couple of weeks, I thought Wingnut knew. And now that Binky’s gone, he’s grieving too. He’s never been the most vocal cat. A lot of silent meows when he wants food, but that’s about it.

Since we lost Binky, he walks around the house just yowling.

I had to know. So I played a video of Binky for him. Wingnut was in another room, and when he heard Binky meow on the video, he came running with a look…it broke my heart.

So yes. Cats can grieve.

Wingnut was always our middle child. The quiet one. The one who never acted up (unless he decided to pee on something, which happened from time to time). Now, he’s the oldest. I don’t think he has any idea what to do or how to be.

Justifiably so as evidenced by the fact that Binky broke a wine glass by getting on the counter the second day we had him.

Anyway, every night, one of us would say, “Who wants to go downstairs?” Both cats knew that was the code for getting treats in the bathroom.

But after a year (or less, I don’t really remember) we gave them the run of the house. We still said the codewords, and they still came down. Until we stopped. I don’t know why. Different habits, different bedtimes, different job duties or commutes…who knows?

There have been a number of habits over the years. The latest (before we lost Binky) was for John to go to bed before me. I’d stay up and write for a while. Wingnut would go downstairs with John and have treats in the bathroom (with the door closed so Abbie didn’t try to steal them) and then when I went to bed, I’d give Binky calorie gel. After his cancer diagnosis, he needed to put on some weight, and he LOVED calorie gel. LIke he’d eat half a tube of it at a time if we let him.

Abbie would get a tiny taste of calorie gel too because we didn’t want her to feel left out.

After we said goodbye to Binky, “Bathroom Treats for Wingnut” just stopped. In part because Wingnut would often stay up with me on the couch now that Binky wasn’t next to me.

And within two days of Binky passing, Abbie stopped wanting calorie gel. Whether she sensed my sadness or didn’t want it because Binky wasn’t getting it or what, I’ll never know. But a couple of days later, since we were sad and wanted to make Wingnut and Abbie happy, I brought down a treat jar and we started having “bedtime treats.” Each of them get 3-4 crunchy treats on or near the bed.

Well, after two days of that? Wingnut no longer wants treats in the bathroom from John. He just wants treats from me when I come to bed.

This morning, I shared a photo of Binky and Wingnut from a couple of months after we adopted them. This photo, specifically.

Despite how things look in that picture, Wingnut really was small there. You can’t tell unless you look at his head. His head is so tiny! At least compared to the rest of him.

Anyway, someone asked about his name. So this is the story of how Wingnut got his name.

The first photo we ever took of the two of them? The very first night we had them? His name was Barney. I don’t honestly remember if he came named Barney or if we just picked Barney out of a hat.

Binky (formerly Elvis) took to his new name easily. It might have taken him two or three days tops? Honestly, I think he would have answered to anything simply because he was so happy to have a home.

But the kitten? He vexed us for at least two months. He just never seemed to learn his name. We’d call it out and he’d totally ignore us. “Barney? Barney? Hey, Barney!”

Nothing.

So we tried another name. I don’t remember what it was. Neither does John. All I know is that we went through at least three or four names, and he didn’t seem to like any of them.

Until one day, we were in the bedroom and Wingnut was lying on the window ledge. We tried his latest name, and he didn’t react. And then John said something very close to, “You’re such a little Wingnut.”

And he looked at us.

“Really? You want to be called Wingnut?”

An ear twitch.

Okay, then. Wingnut it is.

To be fair, when he was little, his ears were really really big. Like way bigger than his head. So he kind of looked like a Wingnut too. And that’s been his name ever since.

Just now, as I sat on the couch working, he walked up to the cat tree where Abbie lay on the second tier and murred up at her. I looked over and told him he could get up there, that there was room for him, albeit in a hushed tone since I was the only one up. Wingnut stopped talking to Abbie and turned his attention to me, making a few noises before prancing towards the french doors to the dining room.

“Must just want more of his food,” I thought. So I got up “What’s wrong, Wingnut?” He started off towards the kitchen with his playful prancing, murring and chirping all the way.

As we walk into the kitchen, he looks down at a collar on the floor. For a split second, my heart thumps in my chest before I realize it’s not Binky’s rainbow. He looks up at me and back to the collar. I get a little closer (damn old eyes) and see the sleeping cat on the tag. Wingnut looks back up at me and then back down at his collar.

I get down on a knee, pick it up and place it around his neck with no complaints, no squirming. I can feel just a hint of “Thanks!” rolling off him.