He would've been 18 next month.

I'm not going to write about what I was going to write about today because today, my cat died. It was the kindest thing to do, the vet said, and I'm sure it was but that thought hasn't stopped me seeing the rest of the day through tears.

He was my 5th birthday present. He was my baby. He never did anything cute except sometimes he'd come running through if you whistled on him. If he could have talked, I know his most commonly used phrase would have been 'fuck off and leave me alone'. He was never very affectionate, but once in a while he'd jump up to lie on someone's lap. The things he loved most were tuna, and sleeping. He had his own armchair in the living room but wherever he wanted to sleep he took the best seat. When he was a kitten he would rub himself against our legs asking to be fed. Sometimes he stuck his tongue out at me. He hated playing. He hated his big little brother (my dog) who has a waggly tail that used to hit him in the face, and who never looks out for little cats before he excitedly storms into a room. When he was a kitten we used to push him around in a pram. When he was older, everything looked like such a struggle for him.

I'll miss having to move him out of the living room at night and out of the conservatory if I'm going out. I'll miss shouting goodbye to him every time I leave the house. I'll miss not being able to open a packet of cold meat without him getting under my feet. I'll miss his fuzzy little head, and the way he'd look up at me and close his eyes happily, his purring, his little nose and his whiskers, and his bloody irritating 'feed me this instant, can't you see I'm starving!?' miaow. God, I miss him already.