Yesterday marked the twenty-fourth anniversary of my father’s death. I remember it as though it were yesterday.
Today marks the fourth anniversary of MasterB becoming my cat.
Death and life march hand in hand. Or maybe that should be hand in paw.
MasterB doesn’t seem too interested in having any celebrations. He has refused to sit beside me on the sofa and has commandeered the chair.
I was at work all day, and when I got home, after a quick cuddle he just wanted to go out.
I imagine he’ll want to go out again before he’s ready to settle for the night. This is just a pause for supper, a wash and to catch up on himself. I am wondering when it’ll dawn on him that the garden is now a Cookie free zone. She went to her new home last night. Apparently she was a bit unnerved by the unfamiliar surroundings, but it was no great surprise to hear that within a couple of hours she recovered enough bounce to emerge from behind the sofa and to play with her new family.
That cat has nerves of steel.
Despite MasterB’s lack of enthusiasm for a champagne supper, I felt sufficiently moved by the memory to check back via this blog to see if I had the date right. I had.
This is how it began.
And here are some photographs from the last four years.