Smokey

I owe my life to this feline.

For those hard teenage years when i wasnt on meds for my depression, there were family problems (among other things); Smokey was almost my only reason to live.
I always wondered: Who would take care of him when i was gone? Who would keep him company? How would my leaving affect him? Would he get lonely? He had grown up with me after all.

Smokey was born in the closet of our spare bedroom when i was 2(ish), before i can remember.
The pet store made up an excuse to not take him while they were fine with taking his sisters, it was retarded but im glad it happened.
Smokey and I grew up together, and it was obvious that he had claimed me as his human. He only came when I called him. The only one he didnt mind picking him up, was me. I could see the smile in his eyes when he laid on my lap for hours, purring happily as i pet him. He'd lay on my desk. Slept on my bed.
I could always count on him being there when I woke up (Unless he had stayed out that night of course).
Yea, he was an oudoors cat.
Yet he would still stay in the area and come when i called.

He was an excellent hunter.
We'd often come home to a dead mouse at the door. He had caught 3 bats (that we know of) in his 16 years of life. Hows that for skill?
He even caught a mouse inside once and brought it to me alive!
Well... Mostely alive anyways.
It seemed dazed so he had probably been messing with it for some time beforehand of course.

He made me so happy.
For the longest time he was the only one i felt i could really talk to whenever i needed (I didnt have any friends for a while, the one i had hung out with moved and i didnt trust my new ones) I could cry to him and he'd stay until i was ok (or fell asleep).
He was just an awesome cat.

[ill add more later, im too sleepy right now]