A Tribute to Bob

I hate to start this thing off on a depressive note, but it wouldn't feel right if I didn't mention that Bob died a week ago today. Bob was my cat: not so much a pet, more of a moody flatmate who didn't pay any rent, relied on me to buy all his food, and never actually learned to use the toilet. Don't get me wrong - I've had flatmates like that before, but Bob was the only one who used to curl up on my stomach and purr fit to burst as I stroked his soft white underbelly.

I truly loved that little bugger, all the more so because he hated everyone else in the world. He had that "Paddington Bear Hard Stare" perfected, and used it liberally on everyone but me. I'd had him ever since he was a little kitten - and he was always a kitten with me, but a tiger with an inferiority complex with everyone else. I still can't believe that I've lost him.

My tiny flat seems twice as big and ten times as empty without him. He's still around every corner and behind every door. In a way I'm glad that he's still slinking through my head, but it cuts me to the bone to know that that's the only life he has left to him.