My very handsome, albeit slightly deranged and smelly, cat. Caught him sneaking around INSIDE the washing machine a long time back (shhh don't let my mum know).

It's been 2 years since he left us. Cliched as it sounds, I've since moved on, though I do wonder every now and then what things would have been like if he was still around. Despite harboring a death-wish, he was an affectionate little squirt. Richie's only beginning to catch up in that department, and I attribute it to age. He slinks into my room when I'm stoning and plonks himself down, making sure that a massive portion of his torso's lying right on top of my foot. As though he's afraid that I would forget his presence. Hah.