There isn’t a gentle way to say that our cat Gandalf passed away last week. We knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. The house is empty, and more poignantly so is my lap. He was at least 15 years old (I can’t keep track) and stayed with us through two other cats, a dog, a marriage and a divorce. . . We got the cat from a friend who has a farm. He was a “special needs” kitten. He was the only one of the litter who survived. Mom cat was a little too genetically close to the father. He was polydactylic, but none of his feet matched in numbers of toes. .
His rear legs were sensitive, his kneecaps floated leaving the nerves exposed. His hips were displaced and he walked with an odd gate. We called him a Cabbit because he would hop like a rabbit to get around. . . He was going to be Orion’s cat and so on the way to get him I asked Orion if he’d thought about names. Orion announced the cat’s name would be Gandalf. I thought maybe he’d want to see the cat first, get to know him a little. No. As always Orion was sure, and right.
. Although he was careful about letting people pick him up, Gandalf was a social cat. He was always interested in visitors and willing to make friends. Because of his disability he wasn’t likely to jump into a lap without an invitation, but he was happy to cuddle up and get some attention.