In memory of Boris

Our gorgeous boy, Boris. Our daughter’s and partner’s cat, he came to us ten years ago as a young cat when their landlord would not let them keep a pet in a rented flat. Always an escape artist, he absconded from his carrier whilst being driven to us and performed the wall of death inside her car. Jealous, he would hide on the stairs, waiting to ambush our old cat sauntering past after lunch. Mad, mercurial, and able to eat eight Whiskas pouches in a single day, he was a terror to the local wildlife, foxes, and even the odd Alsatian that dared enter his territory. A scrounger without peer, companion, a member of the family who gave us more love and comfort than we could have dreamed possible. He would bury his head in our hands, sigh contentedly, and drift off to sleep. He would sit, staring at the door, patiently awaiting our return when one of us was away. Now that place is empty, the house quiet. A blood clot took him from us when he should have had many more years of driving us potty. At the last, he pushed his paw through his box into my wife’s hand for comfort as the vet sent him into Eternity. Our hearts are broken. He is gone. Sleep well, little kit.

by Ken Baughan