We miss his constant talking, the way he would follow us around til we settled to do something somewhere and then he would curl up as close as possible, preferably on a lap, but if not as close as could be with just a soft paw resting on us. The way he positioned himself outside Patch's bedroom in the eve, waiting for his friend to play again the next day. That soft, soft tum which he loved to have stroked. The now empty crochet blanket which Albert claimed as his own. The jingle of his bell as our car pulled in the drive and he came to greet us.
Sweet, sweet Albert.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad