Eater of plastic, wrecker of carpets, killer of pigeons and owner of enormous whiskers; I miss you!
My cat Charlie died last summer. I had to have him put to sleep when he became very sick. Strange how our furry companions weave their own very special place in our hearts.
I'm no poet, so I'll borrow the words of another cat lover, T S Eliot:
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,