They Called Him Mister Tibbs!

It’s time to draw a line, to fully accept that my best friend of five years isn’t going to return. This weekend I will dismantle his tree and tidy away his toys to either give them away or maybe keep them for another future companion. I have cancelled his insurance cover and I have closed the kitchen window, which was always open even during the harshest of Winters so that he could move around freely and to save me from cleaning up his shit from a litter tray that neither of us liked.

I wish I could tell you what happened to him. On January 3rd 2018 he simply didn’t come home. I searched high and low, contacted the local vets, tried the Cats Protection Society, asked the local Animal Welfare Officer, phoned the council roadkill service, had all the neighbours looking, FB posts, everything I could think of to find the little fella. Alas, not even a sighting, no body, no news. It’s almost like he disappeared off the face of the planet, abducted by aliens to be probed anally and perhaps returned fifteen years hence without having aged a day! I must say that some of my local friends have been amazing, always keeping an eye out and messaging me any potential sightings or cats that vaguely fit his description, sadly they were not my Tibbs.

I’m not pathetic enough to say that he saved my life or anything, but he was someone to come home to, a familiar face to chat to when nobody else could be bothered. He also gave me a reason to keep the blues away as he depended on me, I had to be there or nobody would feed him or care for him.

He loved the ladies as much as I do, always making a beeline for the boobies, and who could blame him. He had an innate sense of who to trust, always weary of other males, most of my family and other cats. He was intelligent, having taught himself several tricks that astounded me, like opening pet-proof containers and even learning how to open the fridge to steal the foods. He was pretty much me in cat form, although I suspect he had a better sex-life.

I really hope that an old lady with good intentions has him locked in her bungalow somewhere and that he’s plotting her downfall as we speak, but I really do fear that he may have picked a fight with the Panther of Woodchester and perhaps held his own for a minute or two before being eaten by The Beast!

Goodbye Mister Tibbs, you will be sorely missed.