This blog post was inspired by the one word prompt challenge. Today’s word is childhood.

Childhood. We all have one. Some good, some not so great.

The best memory of my childhood would be the time that I got my first love, in the shape of a silver tabby cat. George.


With his high cheekbones, expressive eyes and salmon-pink nose, he was one of a kind. I am yet to find a cat who has the same gravitas, aura and assertiveness about them. You George, were the high-fashion version of the Whiskas cat (even though you didn’t like Whiskas that much.) Our first meeting was vague, but I remember hearing the words “I can’t take care of him anymore” 4-year-old me didn’t quite understand the concept of emotions but I thought that he was beautiful. Fast forward to the aftermath of my mum’s night out and she too felt an instant love (however was told that she should come back in the morning, when she had sobered up). I’m so glad that she did.

So back to 4-year-old me. I remember sitting in the back of a car, probably a taxi, and across from me were a purple litter box and cat bowl. Obviously the blonde moments started back then because I didn’t put two and two together that I would be getting a cat. I just stared at the pieces of plastic, no brain wave forming about why they were sharing the seating space with me. I could have asked my mum there and then, but I probably had bigger things on my mind, like if I should wear my Pocahontas or Barbie PJ’s when I got in.

I don’t remember anything from my taxi ride to when George graced his presence into the house, but I remember chilling in the back garden with a cheese sandwich, several adults next to me. George was running through the 10ft blades of grass like the king of the jungle, when suddenly I ‘lost’ George. Now I’m not an overly dramatic person *cough* so I subtly shouted ‘I’VE LOST HIM’ whilst dashing at 90mph, losing my cheddar cuisine in the process. Of course George was not lost, and everything was dandy, but that was the first time that I’d experienced my heart doing a slut drop.


Throughout the years he was by my side, me annoying him constantly with my Polly Pocket phone that made the highest pitched noise a human ear can hear. This resulted in him biting and scratching me, drawing blood in the process. He would then attack me from behind, and once he nearly blinded me. LOVE.

He came into primary school with me, posing for photos, making sure his angles were correct. He followed me and mum to the pub, sitting outside of the window we were at, waiting for us to finish our meal. He stole some bacon from the same pub, a neighbour witnessing his heinous crime. He stopped traffic on the main road, simply because he wanted to sit in the middle of it (Bow Down Bitches). He attended a job interview with my mum, and followed us to another one of her jobs. On my 6th Birthday he caught a grey squirrel, just one of his ‘gifts’ he liked to bring us. He loved eating our food, as well as his own, his favourite was cheese. He protected me from the gas man, growling and hissing when the man entered the same room as me. He sat beside me during a rare visit from my sperm donor. Sorry I mean absentee father.

George’s  final three weeks on this Earth were a battle that he so bravely fought, and he left us on the 12th of April 2016. As he waited in his cat box to be taken to the vets, he forced his paw through the caged bit of the door so that I could hold it one final time. 17 years of companionship were coming to an end, and neither of us wanted to say goodbye.

It’s been nearly 2 months without him, and home still doesn’t feel the same… it never will. To some people reading this, he’s just a cat. But to me he was my best friend. He was my childhood.

George, my love for you is infinite.



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