1. Pickles is a tiny cat. He’s about ten months old and only weighs seven pounds.
2. Pickles was not his original name. I named him Fergal, because he was so brave as a feral kitten, but my son didn’t like that and decided his name was Pickles. For awhile, he was called Fergal and Pickles, but Pickles won out. He’s definitely a PIckles. A brave Pickles. But a Pickles nonetheless.
3. He has the loudest meow of any cat I have ever had. It’s like he has a megaphone in his tiny chest to help him belt out the notes. Most of our cats are silent. His entire outdoor family is silent. And there he is, screaming his head off whenever he wants to be noticed, which is most of the time.
4. He reminds us daily of why we have a rule that you should never adopt a single kitten. We had reasonable reasons to break it in his case, as he was an unexpected addition and his two remaining siblings were completely feral and seemed to be doing well with their outdoor family. But kitten energy really needs a second kitten.
5. He has two personalities. I see a sweet, adorable, playful, affectionate, gentle kitten who loves to nap in my lap. My husband sees a demanding and aggressive wild animal who screams and claws and bites to get the playtime he wants. Pickles is easily my #2 cat. My husband often doesn’t even have him ranked.
6. Even our cats who don’t like cats like Pickles. He can get the cats who can’t play nicely to play nicely. Everyone enjoys chasing him and being chased by him. Everyone welcomes him for a snuggle. Everyone will give him a little bath. He’s been especially good for Pomegranate, who tends to be socially awkward with other cats. They were instant besties and still spend a lot of time each day running and chasing and wrestling and hanging out.
7. He’s very photogenic. Even his bad pictures are good pictures.
the dirigible plum 
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