Biscuit

Biscuit arrived as a scrawny orange kitten with enormous ears and an attitude that suggested he had always owned the place. He was eleven years old and still completely certain of this when he crossed the Rainbow Bridge in January.

He had a gift for finding warmth — the sunniest patch of floor, the middle of a freshly ironed pile of laundry, the exact spot on your chest that made it impossible to get up. He would sit there and blink at you slowly, and somehow the whole world would feel quieter.

Biscuit was deeply loved and is deeply missed. The sunspots he used to claim still feel empty. He filled rooms in ways that are hard to explain and impossible to forget.