Minx was a foundling. Specifically, she was found running through traffic on a busy street in central Dallas, when she was only about five weeks old. Fortunately, she was rescued by a devoted cat-person, who happened to be a friend of a friend of mine. I was considering getting a couple of kittens at about that time, and I wound up adopting Minx. She was very small, but incredibly feisty; when I got her home she wanted nothing to do with me, and would hiss and swipe at me if I came near. Finally, I told her I wasn't the least bit afraid of a few ounces of kitten, and I scooped her up, plunked her down in my lap, and started petting her. At first she looked stunned, as though this wasn't at all what she had been expecting, but after a few seconds she relaxed and started a great big purr. We got along just fine after that.

Shortly after I adopted Minx, I got a male kitten from the local shelter to keep her company. I named him Wendigo, and the two of them got along well, though it was always clear that Minx was giving the orders. In fact, that was true with Minx and just about anyone: she was lovely, charming, ingratiating, and dead set on having her own way.

Minx grew up to be a very beautiful cat. She had perfect blotched-tabby markings, but the stripes which would normally be solid black were tortoiseshell. She was very affectionate to me, in a somewhat dictatorial fashion, but she did not like visitors at all and hid from them. In winter Minx often slept on my pillow, above the top of my head, and bit me if I moved around too much or tried to occupy more than my allotted space on the pillow.

In her later years, Minx also claimed my desk chair as her personal property. It was a favorite sleeping place, and if I was sitting on it when she arrived, she would demand loudly that I get out of the way. I was allowed to sit precariously on the front edge of the seat, while she occupied the rest. She also loved to be held over my shoulder while I petted her, and would purr, make biscuits, and nibble on my neck.

Minx remained healthy and active into her senior years. When she was fifteen she started showing signs of kidney failure, common for a cat of that age, but got along fine with some supplemental fluids. Finally, in early March of 2012, she developed pancreatitis, a difficult ailment to deal with because there is little you can do except provide supportive care and hope it resolves. In her case it didn't; we fought it for six weeks with fluids, diet, and assorted medications, but never got any sustained improvement. Her kidney function also degenerated during this time, and finally the combination became too much, and it was clear that she had reached the end of her strength. I had her put to sleep on 12 April 2012, at age seventeen, after a long and happy life.