In 2000 we carried two kittens through the flood in a cardboard box. Over the years to come they brought us great joy and were better companions than we ever imagined they could be.
Today we said farewell to Puck. He survived his sister by a few weeks but we’re not sure he ever got over her loss. He was thin and looked tired, and hadn’t eaten or drank anything all day today.
But for most of his life he was a bruiser. He liked his dinner and he liked to be out. He definitely got into fights, showing off his torn ears. Also when he was a kitten he’d pounce right on my crotch while I lay in bed.
And now we have no cats, which is a peculiar and melancholy sensation.
This was the puckster: