I'm sure those of you who have been to my house will remember Fury, the little ball of black fluff who grew up into one of the most handsome cats I've ever seen. His fur made him look like he was wearing puffy trousers and long boots and he had such a personality on him.
We're not sure how he died. He was found in the neighbours' driveway so he could have been run over, but he didn't have any obvious injuries and he'd lived here for nearly three years now so I would have thought he would have known better than to go on the road. He did have grass in his mouth, which cats often eat when they're feeling sick, so now I'm really worried that he might have been poisoned by something. We still have one cat left, Zack, and whenever he goes out now I worry so much about what could happen to him.
This is the hardest part about having pets. They become members of the family and you love them so much and when something like this happens it's devastating.
It's so weird to think that he's gone. I keep expecting him to saunter around the corner in that way of his that says he owns the place, for him to scratch at the door to demand entrance and then, when someone gets up to let him in, he jumps into their recently vacated chair and just gives them that superior look of his so they know that he is the Fury and this is his chair now.
He really was a character. We often wondered if he'd mellow in his old age, but now we'll never know. :(