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About three years ago, my husband and I decided we would never have another pet.
We had had two heartbreaking episodes in recent years, and that was enough.
The first was the loss of our dearly loved little Maltese cross, who had been with us for more than 12 years.
We had taken a normally very shy, almost four-year-old grandson to the pet shop, back when pet shops sold pets.
He took one look at the white bundle of fur and spoke out, “Can I meet the white one please.”
Hugging his choice, he then turned to leave the shop.
Our decision had been made.
Eventually, our dog had to be put down and we grieved — as did several grandchildren.
A few days later, I noticed a white cat at the front door. The next day, he tried the back door.
My husband said, “For heaven’s sake, don’t feed him or let him in.”
But our visitor returned day after day and sat in the hot January sun.
It was well into his second week and 43℃ degrees outside, when I figured out a way to give him some running water.
I opened the front door and he was inside, like a bullet.
He darted into the lounge room, jumped on to my husband’s lap and there he stayed.
With his sight almost gone, Bill was startled, but the large, adult cat was instantly patted.
When Bill walked, the cat walked behind him. And when Bill went to bed early that night, the cat went with him and slept on our bed.
I checked the lost notices in the newspaper every day and logged into the neighbourhood website.
There were two cats missing in our neighbourhood, but the photos indicated they weren’t Bill’s ‘Princess’. (She turned out to be a lady cat.)
However, I didn’t know what I’d do if I saw her photo.
This seemed like a ‘meant to be’ bonding and I finally stopped looking.
They stayed together for almost three years and then, one night, Princess went outside and wouldn’t come back in.
The next morning, she took herself to a corner of our block — and died. We were both devastated.
Then last month, three years later, without thought or hope, I said “I want a cat” and my husband said “So do I.”
So, we went to the animal shelter.
Bill suggested a young one, as it would adjust and settle down quickly.
My eyes went to an interesting and interested little guy, and the lady assisting us took him out of his cage and gave him to me to hold.
He was staring at me, and I was staring back. I handed him to my husband, who approved.
The cat’s name was, and is, Pickle; he is nine months old.
We put in an application to purchase him and returned a couple of days later to bring him home.
Pickle objected — meowing all the way from north to south Shepparton.
I lifted him from his cage to take him inside the house, and he started purring loudly; he settled in very quickly.
He is adventurous, cheeky, jumps on to every bench and sometimes sulks.
However, when he eats from his bowl, he uses his paws to “tidy up” the floor. And, this purring machine is very good at love.
This is not an easy period of my life, but Pickle wakes me every morning, by kissing my face repeatedly; I wake up laughing.
No licking, no biting, just his damp little mouth; he then sits on the windowsill and waits for me to get out of bed (7am is okay, but 4.30am was a bit early).
This week, I left the house for half an hour.
When I returned and placed a parcel on the table, he jumped on a chair, then on to the table and lifted his face for a kiss.
He is my small shadow, and right now, is asleep in my rocking chair — about a metre away.
If Princess came for Bill — and she did — Pickle has come for me.
Take care and may it be easy, my friends.
Marnie
Email: towntalk@sheppnews.com.au
Phone: Text or call 0409 317187