Today’s guest post comes from Shannon:
He was 23 years old when he died in my eldest son’s arms and I still miss him every damn day since he left.
Sylvester came to us in a very sneaky way. It was show and tell day in grade one and a little girl in my son’s class brought a box full of kittens! (well-played, Mom *wink*)
Soon, the neighbourhood was full of black cats running around and he was but one of many for about five years.
From the start, he was the best cat ever. Chill. Low-maintenance. Independent.
He shared his home for the first few years with a very bitchy spaniel, so he learned to amuse himself in high places and outdoors.
God, how he loved to roam. A true tom-cat if there ever was one. Gifts of bunnies and birds on my back step for years; symbols of…
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