Our son Pat called and told me that Pickle, their fifteen year old cat, died sometime over the past few days. Pickle was found by our daughter-in-law, Tricia, when she went into the basement this morning.
Pickle had been having some health issues lately. One of them (perhaps the major one) was that he was suffering from kidney failure. When the kidneys shut down, demise is imminent.
I always liked Pickle, but we didn’t always get to see him when we visited. We never knew how Pickle would respond to visitors. Sometimes, he refused to come out of hiding. Other times, he would greet us and hang out with us until we left.
Pickle had originally been Tricia’s cat. Tricia was in college when she got Pickle, and he had been with her ever since.
Pickle had an interesting deformity. He was polydactyl, having six toes on each front paw. I had never seen a cat with that condition before I met Pickle. He didn’t seem to mind having extra toes. In fact, he seemed to be rather more stable in the front end than regular cats. At least, it seemed that way to me.
Pickle was the only cat in the household until Pat came home one day with another feline. Pat named the new one Gherkin. Gherkin and Pickle became friends in short order and could often be found napping together, one draped over the other.
Now Gherkin must go it alone. Well, almost alone. Britta, a German shepherd, is now the newest non-human member of Pat’s and Tricia’s household. Cats and dogs are not natural allies. But maybe, in the absence of Pickle, Gherkin will make the first conciliatory gesture and will have another warm body to snuggle with.
So long, Pickle. It was a pleasure to know you.