by Lauren Martin
(Bristol)

My cat died when I was 3 and a half years old. I loved him, as he used to curl up to my belly and keep me warm when I was lying on the floor shivering. My parents were oblivious to this. He was the next door neighbors' cat and they knew nothing about him. They never fed him food or let him in when it was raining hailstones.

I am now 13 and miss him very much. Every night I shed a crystal clear teardrop that drips down my face and makes the tiniest puddle on the ground. It feels like I'm crying a river.

I now have a grey and white cat called CB and a black and white kitten called Bella. I will never forget you Busty Boy as you were my first cat, and the only cat that sent me to sleep peacefully as a little toddler.

by Lauren Martin. xx R.I.P xx