After eighteen and a half years' sterling service, No. 2 Cat has passed away. He has expired, turned up his toes, snuffed it, shuffled off this mortal coil, gone to a better place. He is dead, deceased, stiff-as-a-board, in short, he is an ex-cat.
No. 2 Cat belonged to my wonderful wife, who got him from our local animal shelter. They said he was at least eight weeks old, our vet said four so we split the difference and said he was six weeks old. And when my wonderful wife brought him home, she neglected to mention he came with 'extras' - cat flu, ear mites, an eye infection and a very healthy population of the biggest fleas I'd ever seen. If we hadn't, at that time, qualified for free veterinary care he could have quickly become a 'Money Pit' of a cat, as it was our vet said the only treatment for his cat flu was a dose of full-strength medicine which would either kill or cure him, and could ultimately leave him with brain damage.
It was touch and go for a while, but he pulled through, the fleas, mites and infection were soon dealt with, though the cat flu medicine did have a lasting effect - for his entire life, No. 2 Cat thought he was a kitten. He just never grew up, he was the Peter Pan of cats.
No. 2 Cat's first meal with us was good old-fashioned British fish 'n' chips - I found him sitting on my plate, happily devouring my portion of cod. He ate the lot, which was no mean feat because he could fit in the palm of your hand at that stage. I didn't have the heart to stop him. After
From those humble beginnings grew a wonderful cat who will forever be remembered with much fondness.