Four become three, a retrospective.

So, yesterday was a not so good day. In fact I would go as far as to say, it was shit.
Our beloved mystery cat finally gave up the fight after thirteen years, two punch ups with cars, and a life time of putting his face into sharp places, where faces should not go. Mainly through barbed wire fences, and encounters with the pointy bits of other cats.
BUT! I'm not going to dwell on his last few sad days.
I think pets are great to have about. They are like hairy, or scaly, or feathery, confidantes. They do help with daily life, even though they poop and wee where they are not meant to sometimes ( a lot), and they wreck furniture and ornaments, (quite often), and try and trip you to a premature grave (disturbingly often). It's just what they do.
I was pretty ill a few years ago. Had to have a brain tumour out, and it was a whopper. Stuff happened and things went wrong, in short I was pretty messed up. However, through my opiate haze, one of the main things I thought about was getting the hell out of hospital so I could see my cat. It became something of an obsessive element in my life for the best part of a month. when I DID get home, he proved a great nurse, staying by me, on my pillow for days, trying to lick my scars better (not recommended, cats have scratchy tongues), and keeping an eye on me whilst my wife was at work. He wouldn't wear that little white uniform I got him though.

Not even going to wear that hat. Don't demean us both.

When he broke his pelvis, wrestling with a passing car, he dragged himself over several walls to get back into the garden, to inform us of his victory. He then proceeded to chew his cast off, barge his way out of the wooden chest we had him in as a recovery suite, and hop round the house at high speed, trying to escape to wreak his revenge on passing vehicles.

He once dragged a seagull he'd killed (a fully grown herring gull - those things are like turkeys with daggers for faces) through the utility room window, and left it as a gift in the kitchen. He did the same with a huge buck rabbit, but left it aliv-ish. I dispatched it and buried it, distracting him with treats, and buried it in the garden, then let him out. The furry chancer went out and dug it up ( I buried that rabbit DEEP) Then bought it back in, covered in dirt, sans head, and demanded reward.

Such a chancer, and a total badass.

Master and derpish student.

But now he is guarding the oak in the garden for all eternity. The other three, Mim (serial killer of mice), Mr Pie (seventeen years old, orange, leaf mauler), and Sparrow ( furry black dump truck of a cat, not gifted with any form of intelligence) carry on.

I think all I'm trying to say is, even though my brain is a dick, and things can be pretty bleak a lot of the time, I do try and pick the good bits out of the life I have.

TTFN

Good hunting, boy. <3