On Tuesday our cave lost one of its bears. Gherkin passed away while I rubbed her forehead, having lost her battle with her ailments (of which were many, some undiagnosed).
Gherkin was a bit of a paradox, which is why we called her the sweet and sour cat.
Her sweetness involved large amounts of affection, usually involving rubbing on your face as she clenched her front legs around your neck. Deliciously sweet. For the first five minutes anyway.
This cat was also very smart and definitely knew her name, though I suspect she thought her full name was “GherkinGetDown”, as she would frequently get on the kitchen counter and steal your dinner. The sourness unleasheth. I saw her eat corn bread, brownies, pasta, cheese, butter; and if any meat was ever brought into our house (rare, since I don’t eat it), she would go bananas. You would literally have to guard your food or put her in “Siberia” (the bathroom) until she started rattling the door to the degree it would make your teeth ache.
She was persistent in her pursuits, despite your desire for her to do the contrary: sleep on your head at night, walk on your computer keyboard, get on the aforementioned kitchen counter, drink out of the toilet. If you would holler at her from across the room (or from outside through the window), she wouldn’t move, but would vigorously wag her tail, waiting for you to prove you were serious by removing her from whatever infraction she was currently committing.
Gherkin had a meow that could pierce a drum, which was odd given her small size. It could certainly command your attention. Like it or not.
She was part of our family for more than 15 years. We now have to find our footing without her as part of our ballast. Maybe we’ll locate it after I figure out how to clean up the vomit she left as a parting gift underneath the middle of my king sized bed.