When I first moved to the capital city of Wales, I was greeted by a small furry little quadroped who was curious and seeking attention. She rubbed herself against my legs with my response being to tickle her head. Ever since, we have been friends.

In my younger years when I needed to talk to someone, I would sit outside on my doorstep with her. She would sit there and let me pour my heart out about various things. I found her to be a great listener, even if she didn't understand a word I was saying, she was there for me.

Sometimes I would sneak out some food for her. A random piece of cheese or some scraps of chicken would normally do the trick. She'd come running up to me with excitement knowing I've got something for her. Sometimes, if I were pouring her milk into a saucer, she would be licking it before I'd finished.

She was never my cat though. She was the neighbour's cat. She had often caused them discomfort when the toddler tried to ride her. The toddler was many times her size, and many more times her weight. I imagine the cat suffered from the pressure forced upon her and was right to retaliate. As a result of this, she became quite nervous about being touched, and often hissed or struck with her paw.

Although this was the case, she had never ever hurt me. She often gave me warnings if I tickled her too long, but she never even left a mark. Once she even played 'catch' with my hand, sandwiching it between her Jaw and her fang-like upper teeth. However she managed to let go without causing any pain, as if she had never done it in the first place. If she did strike at me I would tell her off. She knew she had done something wrong and would normally toddle away with her head hanging low. Or if I wasn't doing what she wanted, she would walk a few yards away and sit with her back to me. Later on she'd creep back with an apologetic posture and we'd be cool again.

She had many funny traits. When my neighbour was doing up his garden, she used the dry cement mix as a toilet, as well as his bed whilst they were on holiday once! My brother once had a toe infection that she found very tasty.

Firework nights were always bad nights for her though. She used to hide under a car as her owners, quite often the ones setting off the fireworks, used to keep her outside. When I came home from work those nights and opened my front door to go in, she would run in as fast as she could to find a place to hide. I would find her and coax her into the living room where I would sit on the floor with her. She leaned up next to me leaning harder and harder as each firework boomed in the sky. But no matter how scared she was, she stayed calm next to me. Never panicking and running back into the hiding spots she found in the house.

Lately I had seen her less. She had become weak with old age and found it difficult to climb the fence in her garden to come through ours. With her owners on holiday, she managed it and we fed her scraps and milk. One of our other neighbours did the same too, despite having their own cats to feed. She was getting weaker and weaker and on Sunday she ran into the house and just lay in the middle of the floor looking like she had no strength at all. She ignored food, barely moved and we knew she didn't have long left. Sadly, we had to entice her back outside.

On Monday afternoon, she was sat on my doorstep. She seemed happy to see me and my mother and fiancée and we gave her a tickle before going into the house. I took my fiancée home and stayed there for a bit before returning to mine later in the evening. I checked outside and could see nothing. Called out the cats name and just as I was going in she ran our from under a bush meaowing at me like she always did, unusually full of energy. I gave her praise and she rubbed up against me. She looked like she wanted to come into the house again but I knew my mother wouldn't allow it. Reluctantly I expressed my apologies hoping she would understand even if just the tone of my voice, and closed the door.

Tuesday morning I left the house with my mother and father, all three of us going to work. I saw her lying under my car in the corner of my eye as I approached it. My parents warned me not to start the car too quick but on checking she wasn't breathing. Sadly, with a lump in my throat, I called her name. I looked into her eyes and could see no life. She had gone, probably not long after I'd seen her the night before. My father stayed behind to tend to her whilst me and my mother both left for work.

Her owner is still away, but she is now buried in our garden (after seeking permission from a family member of our neighbour). She enjoyed spending time with us and we felt it was appropriate she stayed close to us. A shrub has been planted where she now lies.

I hope she is at peace, and hope on reflection she had a good life. She lived around 18 or 19 years and atleast half of them kept me company. I know she is 'just a cat' as some say, but I cared for her and miss her dearly. I will always remember the good times.

Goodbye my friend. Goodbye pebbles.

^{True story}