I love animals. I grew up with a ragbag collection that so exasperated my dad he once tried to rehome them all.
My sister and I just went and got them all back and, to the delight of my mum, added some more waifs and strays along the way.
As a freelance photographer, traveling the world, I couldn’t really have pets and the animals that made my house a home were reduced to some cold water fish in a tank.
Such is life on the road.
When my mum died I inherited her 10 year old beautiful, black cat Morris. He’d been a badly treated, rescue cat who tunneled a secret hideaway amongst the pile of clothes in her room and bit you whenever you tried to stroke him.
Over time he grew more friendly and became a real character in our family.
In the 10 years that I managed to take care of him he somehow survived a shooting by a 2.2 rifle and a savage dog attack. He was one helluva cat.
Last week as a 20 year old veteran he used up the last of his 9 lives and was in my arms as we said our final farewells.
It seems silly to be so sentimental over a cat but Morris was one of a kind and a feline friend that I shall miss forever.