I make no apologies for this delayed and emotional addition to my blog.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to a loving and stalwart supporter of my site. Edgar-the-Puss lost his battle to caudal stomatitis, that he fought for almost his whole, too short, two years of life. He left his life—as he had spent quite a lot of it—cuddled in my wife’s arms.

I shall sorely miss my constant desktop companion…

… handwriting  expert…

… rogue…

… and all-round office supervisor…

In fact, I shall do a great deal more than miss My Young Stripey Friend. Right now, there is an Edgar-shaped hole in what passes for this fifty-year-old atheists soul; and this biologist, this professional zoologist and animal-warden, can’t see through the tears to type.

He’s buried on our land, in amongst the flowers and the chipmunks he used to watch through the mosquito-mesh of the front door.

He’s wrapped in his old blue blanket that he would nestle in during his only two Canadian winters. Too short a time My Young Friend, way too short a time.

His bed, down by the side of my desk, has one of the others in it now. They know they can use it, his paws no longer say, “I am Edgar, and this is my place.”.

And he no longer pops up in all the most unusual places…

Instead—as usual—My Young Furry Fiend of a Feline Friend, has gone to bed before me, only this time, when I join him, I won’t have to tuck my knees up beneath my chin to get into bed without disturbing him.

Goodnight My Young Friend.

Love you loads.