It hasn't been a week yet and I still hurt. All the while I painted this I cried because I missed you. Even though your gone, and so too your belongings I move to your routine. When it rains I automatically move to open the backdoor to let you in, but I catch myself, reminding, that you're not coming.

It's been harder losing you than it was your sister, she too gone before her time and only three months before you. You were both healthy, young and fit. But the pair of you always wanted to go outside, you weren't careful. Your fur dark against the tarmac, invisible... unseen... till too late your bodies hit the floor.

You were a real hunter with your catches. It's almost like the birds laugh now outside my window because you're not there to hunt them. And even though you were small, you were fierce. Not long ago we watched you in the garden when another cat came strolling in. Larger and bigger we all lurched forward to stop the fight before it even started but you were at the ready, braced and hissing, you chased the cat away with no fear in your eyes. Little warrior.