// A Death In The Family

Tido was one of a kind. Black as pitch. Wide yellow eyes. He was 13, yet behaved like an energetic kitten most of the time. My roommate, John, was Tido’s mother. In Tido’s mind this was quite literal. He’d spurn affection from anyone else, but as soon as “mother” walked in it was all over. It was lap cat from then on, and John would have to tear him away in order to move.

I lived with Tido for almost two years. He’d slyly visit me every now and then, on his terms, of course. We’d converse in his preferred cat/bird/wookie language for a bit, then he’d saunter out of the room, still chirping to himself. Adorable.

I know John has a lot of memories of Tido. They’ll linger forever, as with anything special. I learned to love that goofy fucking cat. A lot. I’ll miss his jingles around the house. Goodbye, baby-ding.



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