It's that time again ... and it seems to come around faster every year. Bagheera left us seven years ago today. It seems like yesterday -- a gray, rainy, cold morning, well suited to calling it a life and throwing the gates wide open to the next adventure. He was almost fourteen years old, which isn't terribly old for a cat, but he'd lived a fabulous life. It was Freddie Mercury who said words along the lines of, "It's more important to live a fabulous life than a long one." There was a time I didn't know what he meant, but now I do. Wish age comes wisdom, I suppose. So ... remembering the Black Prince, who could be a holy terror as well as a little angel ... champion ratter (yes, he caught, killed and proudly displayed an absolutely enormous rat that wouldn't have gone quietly). He was a fighting cat, carrying is scars with pride, long legged, lean and sinuous, right to the end end of his days. Also a lap cat, a snuggler, a five a.m. bandit ... a shelter kitten who came with us from the Lonsdale shelter at New Year, just a few weeks after Dave arrived in Australia. And we miss him still; we always will.
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