Yesterday was a sad day. Our favourite cat Robbie died. He was 18 and a half years old.
I don't know what it will be like without him. He's been here at our house longer than I've been alive. Mummy got him when he was just a one year-old kitten. After that he grew into a big ginger cat, and when I came along we spent lots of time together.
Most of the time it was me wanting to spend time with him - gripping him in tight cuddles, patting him while he was trying to sleep in the sun or just chatting to him while he was eating his dinner.
His name was Robbie but I called him "Puss Puss". I'm not sure why - it was just a cute name for a cute cat. Unlike Bayley, he was always friendly. He never scratched me or tried to bite me or hissed at me - even when I was being pretty annoying. I loved to pick him up and really stretch him out - he had such long legs. Dad sometimes said he was part-kangaroo.
The bad side for Robbie was that he was so nice and friendly he made a very easy target for me (and later William too). Sometimes he got squirted with the water pistol, sometimes he got chased across the garden, but he was always my friend.
When Mummy told me that Robbie had died, the first thing I did was ask if that meant we could get a rabbit. But even though I said that (and having a rabbit would be fun), every time I go outside it feels just a little bit emptier now. I'll miss you Puss Puss.
