R.I.P. Pusstat ? 1990? - May 2005

So. Poor Pusstat has caught his last mouse, and fought his last fight. He died on saturday night. He was about fifteen, which I suppose is good going for a cat, especially an out door cat that hasn't been pampered.
It's the end of an era, no more running down the garden with a bucket of water when he's fighting the beast of bodmin that lives down the road, no more plaintive miaowing to be let in, and then ten minutes later, more plaintive miaowing to be let out, no more hideous crunching of mice when we're trying to enjoy the peace and quiet of the garden (or even worse, when we're having a barbecue), no more needley claws in the legs when we're watching tv, and in my mums case, no more sneezing.
Yes, since he arrived in our garden (or more precisely, since my dad locked him in the shed for a week) in 1995, Pusstat has brought us happy memories (and quite a few vet bills from fighting anything and everything that moved in the garden including the alsatian dog, Monty). He will be missed.