My cat died today. Sad.
She had FIV from getting into fights with neighborhood cats and her health was in decline. There were a lot of trips to the vet over the past year. She became lethargic and incontinent for the last few months and we put her in a cage outside with a litterbox (which she had never seen before but instantly took to) at night. We fed her rich foods she wasn’t used to having like mackerel and chicken liver to supplement her normal meals. Basically, we tried to make her life very nice, because her mouser days were kind of over (although I found the remains of a pokey pokey dude near my charcoal grill and Wave 100s as recently as two weeks ago).
Pickle was the runt of her litter, and that’s why she outlived all the others — she stayed close to the house and out of the road when she was young. Her father or granddaddy (we forgot the exact lineage over time) was the spookiest cat we ever kind-of-owned and had a huge head and broad shoulders, so we called him Pumpkinhead. Her mother was either Donut or Mommy Cat. It’s amazing how little these things matter to cats. Her son was Marmalade, and he passed this year, too, back around June, also from FIV. Our gardener buried him in Nam’s mom’s garden next to where the water buffalo graze, so I took Pickle there today as well so they could rest together.
Luckily, she did not suffer too much and I was there petting her neck when she took her last breath.
Goodbye, Pickle.
