I only recently joined the site so none of you knew Pikachu. I wish you had. He was an amazing cat, a survivor, a traveler, a diplomat and a sheer joy. He was one of the sweetest, most open cats I've ever met. I miss him every day.
Pika was my 34-year-old daughter's cat. He was born in Connecticut to her dad's female cat and a Maine Coon traveling salesman. When he was 6 months old, my daughter and her fiance moved to St. Paul Minnesota where the fiance's family lived. Pika rode happily in the car the whole way, excited to be on an adventure. They stayed in motels and he'd explore the whole room, not even remotely nervous or upset, never hiding under the furniture like so many cats will. He was just always happy.
They settled into life in MN but when Pika was 2, my daughter woke in the night to hear him crying strangely. She found him barely alive, panting with his mouth open and with foam coming out. The rushed him to the U. of Minn. vet hospital where he was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, The vets had almost no hope of saving him - he was that far gone. But he was young and they tried and he came back from the brink of death. His vet was impressed but told my daughter he'd be lucky if he lived a year.
He lived for 8.
And it was a good life. It took a long time for him to fully recover but he did. He was on medication for the rest of his life and he was so good about it. He seemed to know it was what kept him alive and he'd tell you morning and night that it was time for his medicine. He'd lead you to the counter where it sat and lick the liquid off the syringe. It was NOT tasty medicine either. He also took pills without batting an eye or needing a pill pouch.
But despite all that, he was just a happy cat. He loved to bask in the sunshine and sit by the screen door, sniffing the fresh air. He liked to catch grasshoppers and eat them and he loved to play with those little soft balls for cats. He rated himself, never getting so excited that he'd get out of breath, but he didn't just lump around either.
And he was a ray of sunshine. He'd climb into your lap and purr and purr, gazing at you with deep amber eyes. When he was 4, my daughter moved out here to California and he took another long car journey. He had one bad spell in the car getting stressed and panting but she stopped for the night and he stabilized. He lived out here for 6 years, much of it with me and my husband and our cats. He loved his little nieces and nephews as we called them and though he couldn't play hard like they did, he cheerfully batted at their tails and flicked his own for them to chase.
This past October, I took him to the vet for a routine visit. The traffic was bad and we were in the car for almost an hour. Pika got stressed and by the time we got there was going into heart failure. They stabilized him as well as they could and I rushed him to the emergency vet. They put him on oxygen and I was able to bring him home the next day but he never really recovered. HCM thickens the muscle in the heart, making it harder and harder to pump blood. Pika had lived with it for a long time and his heart just wasn't able to keep going.
The other kitties were so gentle with him. They let him rest and just lay near him, being close. I think that comforted him. But he got weaker and weaker and I finally accepted that he wasn't going to make it. He wasn't actively suffering - he seemed comfortable but wasn't eating and barely drinking. So reluctantly, I made an appointment to bring him in for euthanasia on the afternoon of October 24th.
That morning, I just snuggled him and pet him and he purred and purred in my arms. I carried him outside on the deck so he could smell the fresh air and hear the birds and he lay in my lap and watched them. Then he pulled himself down and hobbled to the door, asking to go in. I went with him and he lay on the kitchen floor and I sat with him as he rested. And there in the kitchen he pulled in a last breath, let it out slowly and died in my arms.
I am grateful that he died at home. I hated bringing him on a car journey in his condition. I also hated the thought of taking him away from the others, never to return. They other three came out one by one and gingerly sniffed his body. The boys were very reserved for a while but were soon playing again. Oops however, sniffed him then rushed to the bedroom where she stayed all day. She is the most sensitive and is a caregiver. She grieved for several days.
Pikachu's ashes are now on a shelf in our bedroom, along with the ashes and photos of other departed loved ones. There is a tuft of his fur in a baggie up there and a little plaque with a paw print. I'm glad he was able to enjoy life as long as he did and when I miss him too much I step outside and sit in the fresh air, breathing it in and thinking about how much pleasure he took in just being alive.
They never live long enough.
