Eldest cat, aka the original and grumpiest Grumpy Cat, has gone missing.
For the past few weeks, he has suffered the return of the tumour on his face. Under the watchful eye of the vet, it has been a case of either wait until surgery is possible or the inevitable goodbye has to happen.
I fear I waited too long to try for the surgery option and he's just decided enough is enough. After last year's bit of luck where the tumour moved to a position that would mean Cat didn't need his jaw broken in order to remove the lump, I just hoped luck would be on our side again.
I fear that, because I've hesitated, he has decided to go find his final resting place as some cats do. After all, he was from feral stock, rescued as a kitten with his only remaining sibling, both survivors of a magpie attack on the nest. We adopted them both. His poor sister died from a heart condition not long after the boys were born. She was small, she was delicate and her heart beat just a little too fast.
We were left with the rough and tumble brother. The one who got his kitten head wedged into a cat food tin and valiantly tried to pretend it wasn't anything to do with him. The one who would strut up to any delivery van or car visiting 'his street' for a good nosy inside.
We've gone through so much together and he's always been a constant - even if it was a constant "I told you so" from him. When Ex left the cat never looked at him again, turning his back every time Ex picked up the boys.
He was a character who bemused many neighbours, owning the street wherever we lived.
Wherever you are - please come home, say goodbye. Have one last chase of the dog, one last swipe at the other cats and one last touch of a paw on my shoulder as you sleep on the back of the couch.