My whole heart.

In 2015 I was lucky enough to buy a house. This mattered to me, because I know what it feels like not to have a concrete “home”, and buying the house meant I would never have to feel that way again.

Maybe it’s not a surprise then that soon after I started taking in strays.

A lot of those “strays” were teenagers, via an incredible charity called SASH; it’s honestly the best thing I’ve ever done, and it was a huge privilege to meet so many brilliant young people. I hope the temporary shelter they found in my house was useful for them, and I hope every single one of them has gone on to have full, happy, joy-filled lives.

The other stray I picked up was a black cat with a white flash on his chest and a tiny dot of white on one of his back feet.

His name was Billy, and today, aged eighteen and after just over eight years of living with us in that house, he’s gone to sleep for the last time.

I don’t know that I was necessarily planning to get a cat, but as many people know, that’s irrelevant in most cases as to whether you actually end up with a cat. In this instance, the Cat Distribution System took the shape of my best friend, Jade, who let me know there was a cat in need of a temporary home after being unceremoniously evicted from a bookie’s.

I’m not an idiot. I knew as soon as he arrived at my house he wouldn’t be going anywhere else.

And I know it’s soft and corny and sentimental to make an earnest post about the death of a pet. I didn’t even make a post about the death of a close relative last year, so it also feels out of character, but…

God, I’m going to miss this bloody cat.

I don’t think you understand.

If you were going to get a cat, you’d want Bill. Soft, silky fur. A purr like a freight train that took very little to set off, and he’d go for hours, just purring good energy out into the world from the safety of your lap. I’ve never met a cat who loved cuddles so much, or having his tummy rubbed. He wasn’t a cat trap when you did this; he just lolled on his back, legs akimbo, demanding more tummy-tickles.

He was also a total tart.

Like I said up top, my house was a revolving door of vulnerable teens (and the occasional police officer and/or social worker, because vulnerable teens sometimes come with those too), and Billy took all of thirty seconds in each case to leap on a new lap and demand fussing.

I know it’s probably just me projecting, but I really do feel like he knew who needed comfort in a room, and was happy to offer it.

Sure, he wasn’t the biggest fan of my dad’s lumbering Labradors, but he just sat on the back of the sofa looking down at them — as was his absolute right as king of the house.

He was a great early-warning sign for me when it came to potential boyfriends, too. One fella displeased him early on, and that was a clear sign to me the relationship was going nowhere. With my current partner, who I’ve been with for six years now, Billy fell in love just as quickly as I did, and that’s how I knew.

Losing the best cat who ever catted was not how I wanted to start my 2024.

But… he wasn’t well. I’m so grateful to my mum for noticing, and taking him to the vet as quickly as she did, because I would have hated for him to be stuck in pain.

Eighteen is a good age for a great cat, even though the eight years I had him don’t feel like long enough. He had a whole life before he came to us, and my only hope is that we gave him the best life he could have wanted while he was ours.

So, yeah, I didn’t know I was going to get a cat. As it turns out, I got the best cat anyone could ever have asked for. He strolled in, found a warm, soft spot in my heart and curled up there like it was made for him. For all I know, it absolutely was.

I’m so lucky he chose us to love him — and I did. I do. I love that sleepy bundle of fluff so much.

Sweet dreams, Best Boy.