Sylvia and I said goodbye to Kichiro Friday afternoon.  He had been eating less and losing weight since early this year, the usual tests didn't reveal anything and treatment for some minor dental issues didn't help.  Recently an ultrasound revealed he had advanced cancer in his left kidney and adrenal gland.  He declined quickly the last two weeks and this week we decided it was time.

His name is Japanese and means "lucky one", and he certainly was all that.  He was my Karma Kitty.  In June of 2016 I had, on a lark, gone for takeout at a place I hadn't been to in two years.  Then on the way home I went the wrong direction on an exit ramp, south instead of north, and there he was at the edge of the pavement, he had just been hit.  He was sitting upright, conscious but dazed, and the only obvious injuries were to his head.  I wrapped him in a towel and took him to an emergency center where they confirmed that other than some scrapes from skidding on the pavement, his only injuries were a broken jaw that would have to be wired, some broken teeth that would have to come out, and a laceration to his lower lip that needed stitches.  They fixed him up and I took him home a few days later.  All those stars that aligned to put me where he was immediately after he was hit felt more like karma than coincidence.

Kichi was a magnificent cat - big, solid, with long, pure white fur and a tail that fanned out like a plume four inches wide when he stood it straight up.  He was in rough shape when I got him, thin, matted fur, malnourished and underweight, but he "cleaned up nice" as they say, and in the next six months gained three pounds and grew into the biggest and arguably most beautiful cat I've had.

Kichi was also the calmest, most mild-mannered, even-tempered cat I've ever had.  Other than thunderstorms and strangers, nothing ruffled his fur.  He quickly earned the nickname "Mr. Chill".  Even Cujo's occasional attempts at bullying him didn't bother him.  Cujo would fake charge and raise a paw, Kichi would lean back and look at him like "really?" and then turn and walk the other way.  On the few occasions Cujo pressed the issue, Kichi would make it clear he'd had enough and just plain ol' bitch slap him.  Kichi had an almost four pound weight advantage and Cujo quickly learned to find others to pick on.  

Kichi was a very loving, affectionate cat, usually hanging around wherever I was and always happy to get some luvin', be it petting, brushing, or playing with his favorite toy, a tennis ball.

He was especially stoked when Sylvia showed up for the weekend, hanging around the bedroom while she put her stuff in the closet, waiting for her to chase him down the hallway.  That became a ritual almost every time she showed up.  He wasn't cuddly, he wouldn't sit in your lap and would only tolerate being held for so long.  But he was happy to lay next to me and absolutely loved it when I would get down next to him on the floor or the bed, my face close to his, and talk to him softly while petting him.  The way he purred in those moments said everything; he was as happy as he could be.

Kichi's life was too short, on the low end of the cats I've had.  That could be due to things he was exposed to during his life in the wild, it could be just cruel fate that the cat that got so lucky in his time of need got so unlucky in the cancer lottery.  He passed away 10 years to the day after bringing him home from the hospital.  Rest in peace Kichi, you were loved more than you could know.