My family was never a cat family, so it was a strange day in 1997 when we decided to buy two kittens.
The first, Luke, was a beautiful sleek black cat, but he had a death wish. If he wasn’t getting into scrapes with other cats, he was annoying customers at my parents’ business by climbing into the bottom of their cars before falling out a few miles down the road. After a few years, we had little choice but to find him a new home, one where he would get into less trouble.
His brother Dessie was far more reserved. The uglier of the two — not helped by the squashed up face he would often sport — quickly became part of the furniture and lived with us for 15 years. I can remember him nonchalantly strolling in front of the cattery, teasing his fellow felines who were unable to roam freely as he could. He knew he was on to a good thing.
With his passing today, and much as it pains me, there is now a page on my website, dedicated to a cat. The only cat I loved.