"We've just heard from down the street. Bruce is no more. He died yesterday. His family are dealing with it the best they can."
My reaction was, "NOOOOOOO, not Bruce!"
Bruce was my mate.
We didn't see each other very often, but we had meaningful interactions when we did catch up. He could be flighty. He could be stroppy. He could be aloof. But he was my mate, Bruce.
I should also say that Bruce was a fat, black cat who lived around the corner would bale you up for a pat on the way to the tram stop or on the way home.
This afternoon, I went down the street to where Bruce lived. Sure enough, his dad had attached a sign to the mailbox notifying the neighbourhood of his demise.
So sad.
Bruce liked to be of a man of mystery. You'd not see him for ages, then you'd run into him regularly. Thinking about it, not going into the office as much meant that we didn't get to see each other.
Thinking about it, he'd have to be well into his dotage - he had to be at least 15-years-old.
But over the years, I've looked forward to walking home from the tram only to meet this chubby, black terrorist of a cat, demanding a pat before letting me through.
He was a friend to many, but if he didn't like you, he'd let you know.
He was a unique personality - then again, all cats have their own personality. It's just this one has been patrolling the street around the corner for many years.
So, vale, Bruce. We know you're up there sucking up to one and all, tormenting your new slave, like you tormented the last one. (He was very good at having his dad buy him new wet food, only to dismiss it after he brought in a pallet of the stuff.) You certainly made the streets of Richmond feel a little more welcoming. You were loved by many and won't be forgotten.
You're going to be missed.
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