So Passes a Great Hunter

Anyone remember my cat Nils, that moved to my parents in the country when I started school last year? He’s lived there in happy freedom, coming and going as he pleased, with good hunting grounds, lots of people to pet him if he wanted, plenty of soft, warm places to take a nap in (preferrably a bed, armchair or sofa with a fuzzy blanket in it) and food to eat. He was a tiny little thing when I got him, but after running around outside for a year, he was a big, strong happy cat, and a very skilled hunter.

Nils, when he was a little cat living with me.

Last night a neighbour came by to tell my parents that Nils had been killed by a car. He is now mourned in various degrees by the whole family (from the sober “who’ll get rid of the mice and moles now?”, to much crying by my youngest sisters and brother). I didn’t see him very often since he moved away, but I still feel a bit sad. At least I hope his death was a quick and painless one after a year of complete freedom.