18

It's been a tough past few days.



In 1994 I wanted nothing more than a cat, I'd asked Santa for a cat for 3 years in a row, and that year I got one.

On the 26th of December my parents, Grandmother and Jeff went to the Humane Society so that I/we could pick out a cat. I don't remember a single cat other than Dot, because when we got there I kneeled down to pet her and she immediately perched her front paws on my lap and stretched her skinny neck out towards me.

We took her home and named her Dot. I don't know exactly where the name came from, (she didn't have any singular pronounced spots) but I like to think it was the swiss minimalist in me that settled on that name.

She was an incredibly efficient killer, she came when called, she sat on my Dads lap at the dinner table, drank wine, let me get her all sortsa messed up on cat nip and was the perfect cat. Sassy, but affectionate when she was needed.

Dot also had the softest coat.

It seems silly tearing up over a cat at my age, but I guess I'll always be a sucker for mammals that don't speak any human languages.

Dot, queen of Hillwood drive, may you reign supreme wherever you are, say hello to Guinness, Angus, Woody, Chains & all the other homies.

I love you.