This isn't a very accurate representation of Strudel, whom his globetrotting mistress called the "greeter" at the House of Too Many Cats, but I was thinking of him as I drew it. Strudel died a few days ago. He was about sixteen, old for a cat, and his death was a good one: he was his ordinary good-natured loving self on his last night and simply didn't wake up the next day. It's weird mourning someone else's pet but he was special to me. I'm due to housesit again next month but without Strudel trotting down the stairs to welcome me, how will I even know I have the right address?
Death is bullshit.