For the first 2(ish) years of his life, Baggi was a stray cat.

His coat was wiry, and his tummy was rumbly.

He arrived with us in the garden in early  2009.

I kidnapped him with the promise of food and shelter.

He'd been hit by a car sometime in his first two years, and his hip had healed badly, and his tail had been broken, and had set wonkily. He was forever the kinky tailed cat.

For the rest of his life, (apart from a spell in hospital about 6 years ago with urinary crystals), he had all the snuggles, and cuddles, and nice food, and warm fires he could handle.

Likes cheese.
Likes pizza.  
Likes chicken.
Likes beef. 
Likes pork.
Likes fish. 

Likes head bumps.
Likes being rubbed under chin. 
Likes ear scratches.
Likes being warm.  
Likes sleeping by the fire. 
Likes sleeping in the bed.

Doesn't like being covered over. 
Hates being made to walk backwards.
Doesn't like being picked up and held sideways – wants to be held so he's facing you (it hurts his hip).

Doesn't like being alone.
Wants to be with people.
Always waiting on windowsill or by door when get home.

When cuddling, he'd always extend one paw out to you, like he was trying to look after you, or say thank you for loving him.

Followed me up the stairs (after checking I wasn't going in the kitchen), every night. Would come into the bathroom to see me. Then would wander out and wait at the top of the stairs. Sometimes followed me into the bedroom, or I would pick him up and carry him, and he'd then sleep in the crook of my leg, or at the side of me, or on my pillow.

Often woke up with him on the pillow beside me.

We miss our beautiful little black cat so, so much.