Pickle Chips

Old man Pickle Chips came to the end of his journey this week. He was a scabby stray cat who haunted our back yard for years before finally adopting us, staring through our window at dinner one day while sitting in an empty pickle chips box. For the last few years he came and went, played with toys, slept on our beds, and accepted medical care when he got into scraps with other strays. He fathered little orange kittens all over the neighborhood, probably including Droopy, before the Humane Society's neuter scooter finally caught him. This week he wasn't feeling well and hid under our bed to die, so we pulled him out and tried to help him, but it didn't do any good - his body was on its way out, his kidneys were shutting down. He passed on gently with the help of our vet.

 

One time I found where he originally lived; I was taking an evening jog and ran past a house with junk in the driveway and saw him laying there with kittens all around him. He looked up at me with more guilt on a cat than I have ever seen, as if I had caught him with his secret second family. I don’t think the people who live there will care that he’s gone. I’m not knocking on their busted door to tell them.

I’m sorry you had such a hard life, Pickle Chips. I hope the food and tummy rubs made up for some of it.